


Regression

by BulletproofTrash



Series: Strangers and Angels 'verse [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Dark, De-Aged Dean Winchester, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulletproofTrash/pseuds/BulletproofTrash
Summary: "You took the car keys away from him? Is he OK? What happened?" Jo could only imagine the worst—what condition must Dean be in that Sam would take those keys away from him, never mind how he'd been able to get the keys away from his brother in the first place.Sam gave a snort of bitter laughter."I guess that depends on you define 'OK,'" he said. "He's 14."
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester & Original Character(s)
Series: Strangers and Angels 'verse [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019070
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45
Collections: Supernatural





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a repost from [Regression](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3895418/1/Regression) by user [reading](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/443241/) on fanfiction(dot)net
> 
> Credits to this work and all the works in this series belong to them.

Jo picked up the phone without checking the caller ID. She almost dropped it when a loud voice sounded in her ear.

"Damn it, Dean!" The yelling was suddenly muffled by what Jo suspected was a hand over the receiver. "If you don't turn the sound down…."

"Sam?" she ventured.

" _Now_ , Dean! I swear to … Jo? I'm sorry, I… DEAN!"

Jo could hear the raucous sound of canned sit-com laughter echoing through the phone.

There was a thunk as the phone was dropped and an interlude of scuffling accompanied by muffled curses and a couple of angry shouts. She listened intently until things quieted on the other end of the line.

"Jo?" Sam's voice was breathless and slightly desperate.

"Still here," she said.

"Thanks, I…" She could hear what must be Dean's voice, outraged, and a little off. "Because I said so, Dean." She thought she heard an edge of hysteria in Sam's voice. "Come on, man. Please? Could you give me a break here? For just a couple of minutes?"

Jo heard Dean, strangely shrill, yell, "Screw you, Sam!" and then the sound of a slamming door followed by Sam's heavy sigh.

_Uh, OK._

"Is everything alright?" Jo asked hesitantly.

"Yeah." In her mind, she imagined Sam slumped on the bed of a non-descript motel room, head in his hands. "He just went into the bathroom." He sighed again. "I took the keys to the Impala away from him."

Jo's eyebrows went up almost into her hairline.

"You took the car keys away from him? Is he OK? What happened?" Jo could only imagine the worst—what condition must Dean be in that Sam would take those keys away from him, never mind _how_ he'd been able to get the keys away from his brother in the first place.

Sam gave a snort of bitter laughter.

"I guess that depends on you define 'OK,'" he said. "He's 14."

* * *

Jo thought it said something about how much her view of life's possibilities had changed that she'd barely reacted to Sam's pronouncement.

"And then the freakin' witch cursed him, and he was a teenager."

"OK," Jo said. Very calmly, she thought. "Is it like when you were little? Does he remember?"

"Oh, he remembers," Sam said. "And he's driving me _crazy_." The last word was especially bitter. And loud.

"How?" she asked. "I'd think that would make it better?"

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Not so much. He remembers, but he's still 14. And it's like he remembers everything with all the emotions and hormones of a teenager. So he's moody and pissed and I think he's taking all his frustrations out on me," his voice was beginning to rise, "because I'm so much bigger than he is now so he feels free to hit me whenever he wants to!"

Sam's voice had gotten decidedly stronger as his rant had progressed, and Jo got the impression that he was directing it, to a large extent, at the closed bathroom door.

Sam took a couple of unsteady, calming breaths on the other end of the phone. "And having just told you that… this may not be the best time to ask. But can we come stay with you guys? I can't… I can't figure out how to fix this and keep an eye on him and…."

"Of course, you can! Honey, I was just going to tell you to come home."

She laughed now, in a kind of joy Sam probably wouldn't understand.

_Dean as a boy._

"Thank you," Sam said in relief. "Payback time," he added and she heard the smirk in his voice.

* * *

Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

"Dean?"

There was the answering thump of a foot on the hollow wood door.

"Can I come out now?" Dean's voice was sulky.

"Yeah, man. I didn't mean you had to lock yourself in the bathroom. I just …"

The door opened and Dean edged out, a scowl set on his young face. Even after a couple of days, it still took Sam by surprise. Dean had always seemed so grown-up to his little brother—strong, tall (even _after_ Sam had a couple of inches on him), worldly. This glimpse of Dean as a child—thin, gangly arms and legs, freckled face with an innocence Sam never would have suspected—was taking some getting used to.

Dean sat down on the bed and looked up at Sam. The temper-tantrums seemed to blow themselves out pretty quickly. Dean flared up easily, frustration and anger boiling over almost against his will. And then, just as quickly, he'd deflate, reason reasserting itself as he got a handle on his emotions again.

"Are we going to Jo's?" Dean asked. His voice broke on Jo's name, and he gritted his teeth. Sam bit back a smile.

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged when he could trust himself not to laugh. He sat down on the bed across from his brother. "Your turn," he said with a wicked grin.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

* * *

When they entered the diner, Sam had his hand on Dean's shoulder, steering the boy past a huddle of men on their way out. Jo's breath caught at the sight of him and then exhaled in a laugh when Dean shrugged irritably out from under his brother's hand, scowling back up at Sam who raised his hands in a placating gesture. She couldn't hear what Dean said, but his expression was speaking. As was the shocked look on the face of the girl the Winchesters brushed past. Sam cuffed Dean on the back of the head and smiled apologetically at the young woman.

Who blushed at Sam's attention.

Unnoticed by the pretty girl, Dean stared in open-mouthed dismay.

He was just a little bit shorter than Jo, face baby-smooth, unlined and unscarred, freckles standing out prominently. The softness of his skin made the dark of fringe of lashes around his eyes even more arresting, emphasizing the brightness of his green eyes.

Jo put her order book on the counter and made a beeline for them. She bit her lip, trying to swallow back the sudden hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble out of her at the whole incredible situation when Dean noticed her.

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't," he said warningly, and Jo widened her own at him in response.

"What?" she said, a smile breaking across her face. Reaching out she pulled him into a hug. "Oh, sweetie."

Dean stiffened for a second—just on principle—before he gave in and relaxed against her.

"This sucks," he muttered into her shoulder, arms coming up to wrap around her. She raised her eyes to Sam, who just shook his head. "Sam won't let me drive," Dean grumbled.

"I should think not," she said pulling back to look at him. She couldn't resist reaching out to smooth her fingers through the short hair at his temple. Soft like her boys'. "You're not old enough to drive," she said mock seriously.

"I have a driver's license that says different," he ground out.

Jo ignored him, cupping her palm against his face. "Look at those freckles," she said wonderingly, smoothing her thumb over his cheek.

Dean's face pinkened with a blush, and Jo couldn't help the deepening of her smile.

"Oh, honey," she teased. "That is too cute."

"Stop," he mumbled, annoyed. He backed away from her and into Sam who threw an arm around his brother's neck, putting him in a headlock.

"He _is_ cute, isn't he?" Sam said.

Dean started to struggle in earnest, and Sam just tightened his hold, continuing to smile serenely at Jo, unaffected by his smaller brother's writhing.

"Sam, honey," Jo said. "Let your brother go."

Dean stumbled when Sam released him, scowling ferociously at both of them, face flushed now with anger. He straightened with all the dignity a 14-year-old could muster, chin jutting out. Jo felt a twinge of guilt at having teased him.

"I'm sorry, sweetie" she said gently, reaching for him again. Dean didn't pull away, though he continued to frown, and she ran a consoling hand up and down his arm. She left her hand there and turned to Sam.

"Y'all want to put your stuff away? I'll finish up here and head on back."

Sam nodded. "Come on, Dean." He put a brief, conciliatory hand on Dean's back, and, though the boy shifted away from the touch, he turned, following Sam's lead.

* * *

It went without saying that the Jo's own boys were thrilled with a Dean their own age who was still _Dean_. And for his part, Dean endured their teasing and rough-housing with good humored acceptance, using his training in hand-to-hand combat to great advantage, particularly with Jake, who seemed to think it was just delightful that he was bigger than Dean for the moment.

"We've got to get him some clothes that fit," Sam told Jo, giving Dean a critical look. "I just grabbed him some jeans and a t-shirt that look like they'd work, but…."

They'd gotten settled and Sam was sitting at the table with Jo, finishing lunch, while Dean fought off the concentrated attention of Tommy and Jake.

Jo nodded, frowning at the way the pants were slipping off Dean's hips as the tussled with Jake. The tattered waistband of his boxers was bunched around his middle. "And some underwear, too, it looks like," she agreed. "There's a…"

"I'm right here," Dean said loudly. He delivered a ringing blow to the side of Jake's head. Jake took a couple of stumbling steps away from Dean, shaking his head, while Dean turned his attention to the adults. "I can figure out my own clothes."

Jo had been ignoring the wrestling match and continued on as if Dean hadn't spoken. "I've got some of the boys' old stuff that might work," she said consideringly, eying Dean vaguely. "But the underpants…"

"Stop talking about my underwear," Dean snapped.

"Sorry, sweetie," Jo apologized absently, although she didn't really seem very sorry. She stood and headed out of the room. "I'll go see what I can find."

"It's a good think Mom keeps my stuff and Michael's for Tommy," Jake said, wide-eyed with put-on innocence, rubbing at the bruises he'd gotten in his grappling with Dean. "I bet there'll be some little pants for you," he said, grin feral.

With Jo out of the room, Dean flipped the kid off.

But he didn't duck fast enough to avoid the smack Sam aimed at him.

"I'm so gonna kick your _ass_ ," Dean growled darkly to his brother, pulling at his stinging ear.

"You're welcome to try, pumpkin," Sam dimpled at him.

"Dean, baby, come out here," Jo called from the hall.

"Yeah, _baby_ ," Jake snickered.

"And I'm gonna kick your ass, too, while I'm at it," Dean gritted, narrowing his eyes at the other boy.

Jo had pulled some plastic bins out of the closet and had a couple of pairs of jeans and shirts draped over her arm.

As Dean approached, she sat down on the wooden chest next to her. "Stand here."

When he got close, she held up a pair of jeans against his waist, pursing her lips thoughtfully as she checked on the length. She tossed that pair to the side and held up the next one.

Dean reached for the jeans, but she slapped his hand away.

"Don't," she admonished him, not stopping her assessment of their fit.

"Jo, I can…"

"Turn around."

Realizing that resistance would be futile, Dean obeyed with a sigh. She held up a couple of shirts against his back.

"Alright, sweetheart, go try these on."

He stared at her.

She made shooing movements with her hands, clearly not understanding why he wasn't doing what she'd told him to do. "Go on. Try them on and let's see if they fit. Then we can see what else will work."

Dean looked at his brother for help, but Sam just shrugged, no surer than Dean how to avoid a fashion show. Sighing again, Dean trudged off.

When he came back, Dean submitted stoically to Jo's smoothing and tugging on his clothes. Until she grabbed the seat of his pants.

"Dude, what the hell?" He jumped out of her grasp, meeting her surprised look with an offended glare.

Jo's hand hung suspended in mid-air, and when her eyes met Dean's, it moved up to cover her mouth. She started to giggle.

"I'm sorry," she whispered around her fingers. "I just wanted to see how the pants fit. I …" She stopped, her other hand coming up to join the first, thumbs twitching convulsively on her cheeks. She dissolved into laughter, leaning over to hide her face in her knees, shoulders shaking.

Startled, but somewhat appeased, Dean started to relax. "Yeah," he said. "Well. Careful with the merchandize." Which sent her into more muffled peals of laughter. Dean grinned bemusedly, shaking his head at Sam and the boys. _Women_.

Finally, Jo got herself under control, and wiping at her eyes, declared the pants and shirts acceptable, rooting into the containers for more things that Dean could wear. She produced a pair of worn, but serviceable cowboy boots. Dean eyed them skeptically, but tried them on. They fit and went on the pile. In the end, Jo managed a fairly respectable stack of clothes for Dean to wear, heading with them toward the laundry room.

That evening, Luke just shook his head, rubbing a rough hand over Dean's hair. Dean slapped out, but missed when Luke, surprisingly spry, dodged out of reach.

"Dude," the sheriff admonished him mockingly. He hung his hat on the peg next to the door. Gave Dean a grin. "Michael's on his way home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of torn on this, but I feel like maybe I should offer a sort of anticipatory disclaimer for this story, because in a couple of chapters it's going to get darker than I usually tend to go. I don't want to spoil anything, but I also don't want people to feel broadsided by the change in tone.
> 
> But just so you know, I can only go so far into the dark before I run screaming back the other way.

For the last couple of days, Sam had been sitting in the back of the diner researching while Dean bussed tables and helped behind the register. Michael had stayed long enough to laugh hysterically at Dean and get knocked on his butt when he tried to give the smaller boy a noogie. He'd vowed to be back the next weekend.

Dean had tried to work on some of the small repair projects he often took care of when the Winchesters visited, but had been frustrated when smaller fingers and lack of adult muscle strength had meant he couldn't complete a couple of the larger fixes that needed to be done. He'd fussed and grumbled until Jo, exasperated, had put him to work washing dishes.

They were using the same cover story for this smaller version of Dean that they'd used when Sam had gotten younger – Winchester cousins with the same names. If people laughed a little and teased, they still accepted the premise without much question. It wasn't unheard of in these parts for families to have runs of the same name. Luke himself had a couple of random cousins he shared an appellation with.

Dean sat at the counter filling ketchup bottles, keeping a disgruntled eye on his brother, who was intent on his laptop, completely unaware of the trickle of girls – teenaged and adult – wandering close to his booth as they made their ways to and from the bathroom.

"Have all these chicks got bladder infections?" Dean muttered to Jo when she stopped to help.

Jo bit her lip and kept her eyes on the bottle in front of her.

At 14, Dean was pretty much invisible to the female population.

Jo herself thought he was an arresting looking child. The beauty he'd have as an adult was working its way into his features, and she was fascinated by the possibilities she could see—the softness of a child's face just starting to strengthen, jaw line and cheek bones beginning to make themselves known.

But she realized that she was a biased observer, and when she tried to look at him objectively, she could see that he was actually going through something of an awkward stage in his adolescence. The full lips that were so... distracting in his adult face, looked out of place on his young mouth—a little oversized and almost feminine. His eyebrows and nose had grown, too, but the face they sat on hadn't quite caught up. And while he was definitely a cute kid, it was still an attractiveness of the cheek-pinching, cooing variety.

And Dean didn't seem to know what to do with that. Yet.

The first day they'd been home, Jo had watched Dean flirt shamelessly with one of Jake's classmates, and then blush bright red when Casey had ruffled his hair indulgently and laughingly called him "adorable." She'd then added insult to injury by pulling her little sister – a shy, awkward girl about Dean's age – out from where the other girl had been standing uncertainly behind her pretty big sister.

Casey had introduced them and then turned her back on Dean. To bat her eyelashes at Sam.

When Dean had stalked off in a huff, leaving the younger girl standing there embarrassed and alone, Jo had felt her initial amusement vanish. She'd tracked Dean down and given him a thorough talking to about good manners and being considerate of other people's feelings.

Because he'd been rude. Not because Jo herself had over-identified with the younger sister overshadowed by an older sibling. Not at all.

And to Dean's credit, he'd been sorry and gone back, apologizing sincerely to the younger girl. If his gut reaction had been affronted teenaged boy, his mature response was all grown-up charm. Poor little Daisy had never had a chance.

* * *

In the end, it hadn't taken Sam all that long to figure out how to break the curse. The incantation had been vaguely familiar and the situation... Well... Suffice it to say that although walking in on one's brother making out with the 14-year-old daughter of a witch (with said witch at one's side) was a set of circumstances Sam hoped never to encounter again, it had, at least, give him an idea about where to start looking.

In Dean's defense, the girl hadn't looked anywhere _close_ to fourteen. Or any other kind of teen. The startled yelp combined with the shimmering of the air around the girl as Sam had gathered up his dazed, suddenly child-sized brother and gotten the hell out of Dodge had made Sam think there'd been some sort of glamour involved. And if Dean had borne the brunt of the mother's wrath, there was some consolation in the fact that it seemed likely that the hysterical crying that had followed them out of the house indicated the girl had not escaped unscathed.

The solution, though, was tricky and time-consuming. There were a lot of ingredients to be gathered, and there was a waiting period while things... brewed.

Sam had kept a careful eye on Jo – and Dean – as he'd explained what was going to be required to get Dean back to himself. He'd glossed over the catalyst for Dean's initial change, because tempting as it was to tease his brother, Sam knew that Dean had been humiliated and more than a little horrified at the thought of what _might_ have happened with the girl had they not been interrupted.

Sam would certainly keep it in his arsenal to taunt Dean with when his brother was normal again, but he wouldn't expose Dean to that embarrassment in front of Jo.

"Sam, I can go _with_ you," Dean insisted when they were back in their room. "You can't leave me here like I'm some kid who can't..." Dean's voice wavered, frustration and anger bringing him to the brink of tears. He cleared his throat and stood, fists clenched, swallowing back the emotion that was threatening to undo him.

Sam turned away, purposefully ignoring the struggle his brother was going through.

"Not on this one." Sam kept his back to Dean, stuffing things into a pack. "It's a grocery run, Dean. I'm not going to be doing _anything_ that requires back-up."

"Then..." Dean started to interrupt him.

"BUT," Sam raised his voice over his brother's, "having a kid with me on this trip would be asking for trouble. You _know_ that."

Sam turned to face Dean. Could see the mutinous clench of his jaw, but also the recognition of the truth of what Sam was saying.

"This is the only trip you can't come on, Dean. I know it sucks. But, dude..."

"Fine."

"Dean..."

"I said 'fine,' Sam," Dean growled.

Sam nodded and threw a couple of last things into his bag. Zipped it up. When he turned around Dean was sitting cross-legged in the middle his bed facing Sam, head in his hands. "I hate this," Dean mumbled.

"I know you do," Sam said softly and sat next to his brother. "I'll be fine," trying to reassure.

"I know," Dean said heavily, head coming up to meet Sam's eyes. Sam was struck again by the incongruity of his brother's "voice" spoken by this child. Dean smiled at Sam with a disconcertingly little-boy expression. "You can take care of yourself."

"You got that right," Sam said. And swallowed down the ache in his throat – not only at the words of confidence, but at the open admiration on his brother's face.

* * *

Michael had returned home for the weekend, and Dean suspected he'd keep doing that until Dean was himself again. Michael had volunteered to go with Sam on this particular trip and joked about being the Winchester substitute brother as he slid into the passenger seat. Dean was ridiculously grateful that Sam wouldn't be alone, and he stood next to the driver's side of the Impala, chewing on his lip while Sam got situated.

"Be careful with my baby," he ordered his brother and reached out to rest his fingertips lightly on the window ledge. "Be careful," he said again, hating the tightness in his throat and the spike of uneasiness that Sam was leaving him.

"You know I will," Sam said.

Dean took a step away from the car into Jo, who put an arm around his shoulders. She added her admonitions to Dean's.

"Y'all be safe, you hear me?" She bent down to give Michael the same stern stare she'd just given Sam.

"Yes, ma'am," they said.

* * *

That night found Dean home alone with Luke and Jo. Jake had a date, and Tommy was at a birthday slumber party for a classmate who lived in town. Dean wandered restlessly around the kitchen while Jo got supper ready, until Jo put him to work. She watched him carefully as he set the table, wondering how to help him settle.

When Luke came in, they sat down, just the three of them. They all looked at each other self-consciously.

"Well," said Luke. He reached out his hands – one to Jo and one to Dean. "Let me bless it, and we can eat."

They ate in silence for awhile until Luke said curiously, "How're you liking being a kid again, Dean?"

Dean paused mid-shovel to give Luke a dark look. The expression on his face clearly said, _You have got to be kidding me._

"Oh, come on. There's gotta be something."

Dean glared at Luke briefly before bending his head back to his meal.

Jo took a bite of salad. "He's still smarting from the fact that none of the girls will notice him now that he's just a little boy," she said sweetly.

Dean's head came up at that, and he scowled. Jo looked at him over her glasses. "I think it's a good lesson in humility," she said primly.

Dean stuck his tongue out at her.

She and Luke both laughed.

"Very mature, Dean," Jo said sarcastically.

Luke said again, "Come on."

Dean sighed, put upon. "Well." He thought about it. Then grinned, slanting a glance at Jo. "Marge gives me extra pie when Jo's not looking," he said slyly. Jo huffed out an exasperated breath and Dean added, "And Miss Maddie always has gum."

Around a smile, Luke said, "See. Not all bad."

Dean rolled his eyes, not sure that extra pie and gum made up for the lack of female attention. Although. Dean did love pie.

"OK, favorite Sam memory," Luke said.

"What?"

"What's your favorite memory of Sam when y'all were growing up?"

Dean looked at Luke like he'd sprouted another head.

But Jo recognized the pattern from when she and Luke had first married. He'd done this with all their boys those times they'd had one all to themselves. Asked random questions to draw them out. Sometimes trivial, sometimes more serious. And eventually, after a lot of initial _this is so stupid I can't believe she married you_ muttering from the two older boys (Tommy, of course, had thought it was the greatest game ever), all three of the kids had responded.

Because, when it comes right down to it, who doesn't want to talk about himself to someone who really listens.

Luke continued to stare at Dean blandly, waiting for a response. Jo knew Luke would sit there until it was time to do the dishes if Dean didn't answer.

"What do you mean?" Dean caved.

"Memory. Of Sam. Doesn't matter what – funny, angry, touching. No wait." Luke changed his mind. "Favorite touching memory of Sam." Now Luke was grinning evilly at Dean.

Dean took a minute, face carefully blank. Then. "OK. We were playing slug-bug in the car in Arizona this one time and a whole parade of VW beetles went by. I think I hit him like 15 times before Dad caught me." He had his own smirk in place. "Touching, right?"

"No touching!" Luke barked suddenly, making Jo flinch and Dean laugh, delighted. Michael had brought his roommate's Arrested Development DVDs home and boys' (Luke included) obsession with the show was going to be the death of her. They quoted it constantly, and had taken to bleeping themselves out at appropriate (or inappropriate) times, and she was about to ban that practice the same way swearing itself was not allowed.

"Fine," Luke said, acknowledging Dean's evasion. "OK. Favorite memory – funny – of your dad."

Dean blinked and Luke winced; he hadn't meant to muddy things by bringing John into the game.

But Dean just nodded. "OK," he said softly, eyes going distant as he thought.

Suddenly, he grinned. "OK." He put his fork down. "There was this one time we spent Christmas break at Bobby's when Dad was between gigs. Sammy was, like, 12, and totally pissed that we were moving again before the end of the school year, so he'd been a nightmare to live with—sulky and, just, _epic_ proportion brat." Dean started eating again. "We hardly ever were north during the winter – Dad hated it, the cold and the smell of fires..." He trailed off, but both Luke and Jo got it. "But. Dad needed to use Bobby's library and do some research for this new job he thought he'd found, so we headed for North Dakota. Man, it was cold." Dean shuddered at the memory. "So, we're all crammed into Bobby's place and Sammy's biting off everyone's head or pouting or slamming doors and Dad's just as bad, yelling or growling. Both... just. Ornery for ornery's sake, you know?"

Jo couldn't help the slight smile – that expression sounded like pure Bobby Singer to her.

"And then one morning, when we wake up, there's snow everywhere and me and Sammy are outside making snowballs and throwing 'em at each other. Nothing serious, just goofin' around, and Dad comes around the corner of the house just as Sammy's throwing and Sammy hits him smack on the side of the head." Dean's eyes were wide as he looked at Luke and Jo, like he was reliving the surprise he'd felt at that moment. "And Sammy's standing there. Frozen. This look on his face, like, oh, crap and Dad has this look on his face, like, what the hell, and just then Bobby comes out on the porch and I... I _beaned_ him with snowball. Right in the face."

And it had been intentional. Clearly.

Dean let out a joyous cackle. "It was _awesome_! You shoulda seen Bobby's face. He's standing there with his mouth open and ice and water _dripping_ off his chin. And then before I see him, Dad's picked up a handful of snow and is _running_ at Sammy and Sammy lets out this _shriek_ when he realizes that Dad's after him. All 'Dean! Dean!' And then Bobby's off the porch and _I'm_ running the _other_ direction trying to get the hell away from Bobby."

Dean was grinning. "Dad had _no_ idea what the yard was like, but me and Sammy knew every inch. Bobby knew it, 'course, but not like us." He shook his head. "They never could get us. We slaughtered them. Dad was laughing – _laughing_ – the whole time. Like. Like I'd never heard him before."

He paused, memory pure on his face – wonder and happiness. He smiled. "It was awesome." He blinked away the cobwebs of the remembrance, glancing at Jo and Luke quickly, ears pink at having lost himself in the story. "Anyway. It was dark before Dad finally called 'uncle,' and we had chili and cornbread for dinner and... Sammy fell asleep on the couch, and Dad carried him to bed and it was... okay, you know?. Or something." He shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable now with Jo and Luke's attention so fully on him. He dropped his eyes to his plate, moving his salad around for a minute.

Then his eyes came up, touched Jo's briefly, then Luke's. "Not really funny, I guess, huh?" He shrugged again. "But fun." Gave them both a hesitant smile.

Jo smiled back, willing back the moisture in her eyes at the bittersweetness of that memory. Luke cleared his throat before he spoke. "Fun always works for funny," he said. "Besides. The image of your dad and Bobby with snowballs in the face? That's funny."

* * *

Jo was sitting in the front porch swing with a book in her lap when she heard the rumble of the Impala's engine approaching. Dean was on the stairs, counting how many times he could bounce the basketball on one of the narrows steps, eyes straying constantly to the corner of the diner, where the driveway curved around toward the house. He heard the sound at the same time she did, and he twisted toward Jo, a blinding smile lighting his face. "They're back!"

Dean scooped up the ball and dribbled it down the stairs, trying for cool as he ran out to meet the car. Sam had called an hour ago to let them know he and Michael were on their way home. When Dean had – oh so casually – aimed for the front of the house, Jo had followed.

"Sammy!" Dean backed up a couple of steps as the car rolled to a stop.

"Hey." Sam swung the door open wide.

"Did you get it?" Dean was almost vibrating with excitement that his brother was home.

"Yeah, we got it," Sam assured him, reaching out and putting a steadying hand on Dean's head. Dean moved impatiently out from under the restraint, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Where do we go next?" Dean asked. "Do we go right now?"

Sam shook his head, looking over the top of the car at Michael. "Give me a break, OK, Dean, we just got back." He sounded tired.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Did everything go OK?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yeah, it's all OK," Sam said. "Just had to get the stuff in the middle of the night. Tired. Hungry. In need of a real night of sleep."

Biting his lip, Dean nodded. "Sure," he said. But he looked unhappy. He looked over at the boy on the other side of the Impala. "Hey, Mikey."

Michael jerked his chin at Dean. "Hey." He smiled. "It was all cool, Dean," he said easily, and Dean's anxiety seemed to ratchet down a couple of notches.

"Cool," Dean agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

It was 2 o'clock in the morning and Jo could hear the low murmur of television voices, the sound-track of what was surely an old horror movie drifting toward her as she came down the stairs. When she entered the family room, the Winchesters were both on the couch, Sam slouched so far into the cushions, his butt was almost hanging off the edge; Dean was stretched out beside him, bare feet against Sam's hip, head on the opposite arm rest. She thought Dean was asleep until his eyes fluttered opened, fixed vaguely on the screen for half a second, then slipped shut again.

The Winchesters had been in and out of the house over the last couple of weeks, slowly gathering … whatever it was they were collecting for the concoction Sam thought would change his brother back. Jo wasn't exactly sure what they were doing, but it seemed to involve late hours and a certain amount of stuff they weren't willing to talk about it. Which made her nervous. And her willingness to let them evade the few questions she asked made her feel like a little girl with her fingers in her ears, singing _lalalalalalala – if I don't ask and they don't tell, nothing scary is happening._

Way to confront your fears head on, Jo, she thought derisively.

Dean was increasingly short-tempered, and Sam didn't seem to notice beyond a vague annoyance with his brother's snappishness. They assured her that everything was fine, that they were just tired. And she believed them. But she worried.

Looking at them both now, she sighed.

Dean stretched and rolled over on the couch, face pressing into the back cushion.

_Oh, for heaven's sake._

"Dean, what are you doing up?" Jo headed straight for him, shaking the boy gently and giving Sam an exasperated glance. "Go to bed."

Dean turned over, eyes blinking open. "'s Sammy going to bed?" he mumbled, though he sat up compliantly enough. He squinted blearily at Sam.

Sam looked at Jo in surprise, then took in his sleepy brother. He grinned, but didn't say anything.

Jo tugged at Dean's arm. "No, sweetie, I don't think Sam's ready yet, but you need to." She was trying to get him up and moving toward his room. Usually, with her own boys, if she could just get them pointed in the right direction when they were this tired, they didn't give her any trouble.

Dean didn't seem to be much different. But he paused as he shifted his legs off the couch, looking at Sam.

Sam shook his head. "Dude. Go to bed." When Dean hesitated, Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I'm not a little kid. I can watch a scary movie without my big brother around to protect me."

Something flickered across Dean's face and he blinked, sleepy child expression falling away, grown-up Dean expression replacing it. He got up.

"Whatever, Mr. Please-let-me-sleep-with-you-Dean-please after we saw the Legend of Boggy Creek. For months."

"I was _six_ ," Sam protested.

"You had a nightmare about it last week," Dean said.

"Jerk."

"Brat." Dean shuffled out of the room. "Night, Jo."

"Night, sugar."

Jo waited until she heard the door to the bedroom shut before she turned to Sam.

"Honey…"

Sam muted the television and looked at her expectantly. She bit her lip.

"Don't you think it's awful late for Dean to be up?"

Sam stared at her in confusion. "We're awake at this hour all the time," he said.

"Well, I'm sure that's true, but he's…"

Sam laughed in sudden understanding. "Jo, he's not really 14. You know that, right? He's still _Dean_."

"I know," she said defensively, "but his body is fourteen and…"

Sam had an amused smile on his face, and Jo scowled. _Don't you indulge me, boy._

"Sam, do you think it's a coincidence that he's falling asleep at the dinner table and grouchy as a bear all day long? Do you think it's good for him to get six hours of sleep and then drink coffee from sunup to sundown just to stay awake? Is that what your dad let y'all do when you were that age?"

Belatedly Jo wondered whether John would, in fact, have let them do just that.

But Sam had shifted uncomfortably and was frowning thoughtfully. "No," he said slowly. He still didn't look completely convinced. "But, Dean's always been a night owl. I'm not…"

Jo hastened to reassure him. "Look, honey, I'm not saying you have to order him to his room at 8." She could imagine the effect _that_ would have on Dean. "But. What about trying to get him into bed by 10 or 11?" Jo raised an inquisitory eyebrow at him. "I'll work on limiting his caffeine intake during the day, and you start making noises about bed a little earlier." Sam was continuing to watch her dubiously. "OK?" she wheedled.

Sam hesitated, but finally agreed. "Yeah, OK." He turned back to the television with a last uncertain look at her. "He's not going to like it, though."

Jo just smiled. "We'll see."

The next morning, Jo allowed Dean one cup of coffee and poured the rest of the pot down the drain, eliciting cries of protest not only from Dean, but Luke as well.

"Oh, stop your fussing," she told them, unconcerned. "Drink more water. You'll be fine."

She kept Dean busy during the day, asking him to run errands and help her with small projects. By the time supper rolled around, the boy was drooping.

"My head hurts," he whispered, head in both hands as he sat at the table.

"Does it, baby?" she asked. She smoothed a hand over his hair. "Why don't you take a couple of these?" She tilted some pain relievers into the palm he stretched out to her and gave him a glass of water. "Drink all that, OK, sweet pea?"

"'K," Dean said, blinking lethargically as he slowly downed the water.

Jo raised an eyebrow at Sam over Dean's head, and Sam shook his head in a kind of awe.

There really wasn't so much to wonder at, though, Jo thought. This was having an exhausted teenager in your house – even if it was partly due to caffeine withdrawal. And to Jo's mind, Dean, for all Sam's protest that his brother was still an adult, was becoming a child in more than just body.

It wasn't obvious because in some ways Dean always acted like a teenager – the teasing and the silliness and the sarcasm. And teenagers are on their way to becoming adults, so they'll act like ones in fits and starts.

But more and more, she thought that Dean was settling into the boy he looked like. He wasn't forgetting or becoming someone other than who he was. But he was losing some of the edge that comes with being an adult; there'd been a softening in him, not just physically, but emotionally as well.

If Sam had seen Dean's hesitation to go to bed the night before as an indication of big brother over-protectiveness, Jo suspected that it had actually been more a younger brother's reluctance to be sent to bed on his own. Not that he was scared. Just… lonely without his brother. Not wanting to miss out.

And Jo wasn't sure that Sam recognized that his brother was changing.

Sam continued to act as if Dean were still the big brother (if in a smaller, more easily teasable form), treating Dean with the same careless affection most siblings give each other when nothing's wrong.

Jo didn't know if it was denial or just the simple inability to see vulnerability in a person Sam had always considered invincible. But Dean was different. And Jo wasn't sure whether she should say anything to Sam about it or not.

That night Dean went to bed without protest at 9:30, Sam trailing after him toward their room when Jo sent Tommy up to bed. Twenty minutes later Sam wandered back into the family room with a book, dropping back onto the couch and putting stockinged feet up on the coffee table.

"He's out."

Jo tried – and failed – not to look smug when she glanced at Sam over her reading glasses.

"Guess he was tired," she said archly.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah." He picked up his book and flipped it open. "It's weird to be up when he's not," he said somewhat absently.

Jo smiled.

The next day Dean was noticeably more pleasant to be around. And by the end of the week, he was a pretty agreeable kid.

* * *

"Jo!"

Dean slammed into the kitchen, door crashing behind him.

"Hey," she said. "Y'all find what you were looking for?"

"Yep," he said. He went straight to the refrigerator, opening the door and peering in. "Can I have a Coke?" he asked.

"Honey, it's almost supper time. Have milk or juice instead." She turned to look at him. "Hey, where's my 'hello'?"

Dean's shoulders drooped, but he shut the refrigerator door and shuffled to her, giving here a hug.

"Thank you," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek before she released him. She was enjoying the additional power she wielded over this younger Dean, making him give her the same sort of affection she expected from her other boys. If he'd fought her on it at all, she would have dropped it like a hot potato, but he hadn't. He rolled his eyes and complained like Michael and Jake did, but was always quick enough to obey when she insisted.

Dean went back to the fridge, pulling out the gallon of milk. He made to drink from the jug, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he lifted the bottle to his mouth. He stopped, grinning, when she picked up a knife and pointed it at him threateningly.

"Jeez," he laughed. "Don't have a cow." Then choked on a giggle.

She shook her head. "Get a glass," she said severely.

"Yes, ma'am."

When Sam entered, he gave Dean an unhappy look. He dropped two bags on the kitchen floor.

"Dean, don't just leave your crap in the car. Bring it in."

Dean eyed the bag his brother had already brought in for him as he took a gulp of milk. He shrugged, unconcerned.

"How'd it go?" Jo asked Sam.

"Good," Sam answered, pulling out a chair to sit in. "I think I've got the last of what we need. Now I just…"

"Dean!" Jake slid into the kitchen. He gave Sam a passing "Hey, Sammy," before he returned his attention to Dean. "You wanna go to the movies tonight?"

Dean's face lit up, but he shrugged like he didn't care. "What are you seeing?"

"They're playing _Goonies_ at the drive-in," Jake grinned.

"I want to go!" Tommy had followed his brother in.

"You can't, brat," Jake said carelessly, then changed the address of his little brother when Jo frowned at him. "Tommy. It's the high school group."

"Dean's not in high school, why does he…" Tommy's complaint was increasingly familiar, and Jo couldn't help but notice that Sam looked almost as disgruntled as the younger boy.

"Cuz he's 14 right now, and he's cool, and you…"

"Jacob."

"…are too young," Jake finished smoothly.

"Yeah, I'll go." Dean's eyes went to his brother. "That's OK, right, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged. "Dude. You're a grown up. Do what you want."

Dean faltered, but recovered quickly. "Yeah, I'll go."

"Cool," Jake said. "Jimmy's picking us up in couple of minutes. I wasn't sure if you'd be home, and…" He broke off suddenly and turned to Jo. "Hey, can we take the folding chairs on the front porch? We're going to set them up in the bed of Jimmy's truck, and…"

Jo waved him silent. "That's fine, honey. But you tell Bud that if he breaks another one, he's paying for it."

Jake grinned. "Come on, Dean, we can…"

The two boys skidded out of the room, and Jo called after them. "Home by 11, Jake, you hear me?"

Silence.

"Jake!"

"I hear you!"

"Then answer me, young man, or you can stay home," she answered loudly. She paused. Then called, "What time?"

"11, OK? We'll be home by 11," the snap in his tone set Jo's teeth on edge, but she didn't feel like fighting this particular battle right now

"Yeah, you will," she muttered to herself as the front door slammed shut.

"I wanna go," Tommy said with a pout. "Why do they get to do everything? It's not fair…."

"Honey, I know it's hard not to get to go, but this is something that the high school kids are doing, and…."

"Why do the high school kids get to do all the cool stuff? I …."

Jo had gotten so tired of this conversation. Jake and Dean had bonded like Sam and Tommy had when Sam had de-aged. It turned out that "grown" Dean in a 14-year-old's body was a perfect match for 16-year-old Jake, who had quickly given up trying to subdue his friend physically and started inviting Dean on any plans he had with his friends.

Jake's friends – mostly enormous boys from the football team, for some unknown reason – had absorbed the smaller, smart-mouthed boy into their crowd without causing so much as a ripple in the dynamics of the group. They thought he was a riot.

"Because…," Jo interrupted and then stopped, refusing to allow herself to get sucked back into the black hole of this argument. "Because they're older and when you're their age, you'll get to do the same things."

"I…."

"Tommy," she said sharply. "We're not doing this again."

Lower lip outthrust, Tommy turned on his heel and ran out of the room. She heard the front door open, then "Jake! Dean! Wait!" before it slammed behind him.

She sighed.

Sam echoed her. "I don't even get why he wants to hang out with a bunch of kids," he grumbled. "It's not like he can hit on any of the girls," he added petulantly.

"Well." Jo wasn't sure he was looking for a response, so she paused before she asked, "How much chance did he get to be a teenager when he was one?"

Sam's head came up from its sulky examination of the table top.

He blinked at her. "Not much, I guess," he admitted.

She nodded.

"They're a good bunch of kids, honey. Sweet, responsible – or as responsible as a bunch of teenagers can be. They've accepted him – think he's fun and hilarious." She watched Sam kindly. "What's not to want about that?"

"He never cared about that before," Sam said. But he was uncertain.

" _Could_ he care about it before?" Jo asked gently.

Sam met her eyes thoughtfully. "No. I guess not."

As an offering, Jo reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer. She opened it and set it on the table in front of Sam. He accepted it with a sigh and a "thanks."

There was the blare of a horn out front and the sound of young voices calling and responding. Sam's head turned when Dean's voice could be heard – clear and ringing –above the others. There was an accompanying burst of laughter that made Sam smile slightly as he met Jo's eyes.

"OK," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

The wail of sirens turned everyone's heads toward the window of the diner. Not Luke's Bronco, Jo thought, a little relieved, as she watched the brown sedan fly past. She sent up a brief prayer for Matt's safety when she recognized his dark head as the car went by.

Mentally, she went through her check-list:

Michael was back at school.

Sam and Tommy were at a booth in the back, Sam on the internet, Tommy working on a school project. Although currently both heads were bent over a comic book Tommy had slid across the table to his friend. She'd take care of that in a minute.

Jake and Dean had ridden their bikes down to the Dairy Queen, a couple of miles in the opposite direction of where Matt had been headed.

Luke was... well, she didn't know. But she'd wait a little while before she called to check on him.

Jo headed toward Sam and Tommy, ready to confiscate the comic and give both boys a reminder of what they were supposed to be working on. Tommy had already seen her coming and was trying to slide the magazine out of Sam's hands.

"Tommy," she started, but was stopped by more sirens, this time not going past, but getting increasingly louder. She turned in time to see Luke's truck skid to a halt at the front of the diner. In the passenger seat, she could see Jake, pale at this distance, face marred by something...

Blood.

She was already running toward the door as faces looked her way, someone saying urgently, "Jo..."

Luke was out of the car, expression scaring her even as she reached for the passenger door handle, wrenching it open.

"Jake," she gasped. Her eyes scanned the interior of the truck. _Where...?_

"I'm sorry, mom, I'm sorry." Jake's broken voice brought her attention back to him.

"Baby," she said, confused and frightened.

"I tried. I couldn't..." Jake's eyes were huge, desperate. He was trying to tell her something, something she didn't want...

"Where's Sam?" Luke voice, rough and tight, turned her toward him even as she tried to wrap her arms around Jake.

"He's..."

"Luke, what..." Sam was already there, eyes taking in Jake's condition, flickering to the back seat. "Where's Dean?" he asked sharply.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I'm so sorry," Jake was crying now, and Jo could only hold him to her, brain stuck on _what_ and _no_.

"Someone took him," Luke said. "Hit Jake with his car and grabbed Dean."

Sam went completely still, mouth falling slightly open in shock, face ashen.

Jo felt her blood turn to ice. Her eyes went back to Jake's dirty, blood streaked face. _Hit Jake with his car, hit him... grabbed Dean. Dean._

Luke had taken Sam by the elbow and turned him back toward the diner. Sam was stiff, but keeping pace, asking questions while Luke talked quickly, speaking low and urgently.

"We've got a child missing," Luke said abruptly as soon as he was in the diner, commanding without effort the attention of the whole crowd. He kept one hand on Sam, and Sam stayed at Luke's side, holding himself tensely, focused completely on what Luke was saying.

Jo felt a shiver of apprehension at the look on Sam's face. The shock of understanding and horror that had been there just moments before was gone, replaced by something that Jo didn't recognize, but that scared her – not only for the person who had taken Dean, but for Sam himself.

"Taken," Luke amended tightly. "I need every man willing to help us find Dean Winchester. Y'all know what he looks like? Fourteen, 'bout 5' 4", brown hair, green eyes, freckles."

There were nods among the locals, who had already been standing, and they moved en masse, men and women, toward him. The people just passing through looked startled, worried, not sure what to do.

"We're looking for a red van, New Mexico plates, guy who's been hanging out here some the last few weeks."

"The guy who took him... the guy..." For a brief moment, Luke looked like he might throw up. "Our boys have been calling him 'creepy dude.'" There were nods again and small gasps of recognition. "Jake's given us a pretty good description of the vehicle, and said it headed northwest down 34 here." He paused. "Anyone see it go by in the last 40 minutes or so?"

There was a brief silence before one of the teenaged girls said shakily, "I did. I saw him drive by as we were getting our malts." She was blinking quickly, trying not to cry, the realization starting to hit her. "I was glad he didn't stop," she whispered, and the girl next to her put an arm around her.

"No, that's good Annabelle, that's good," Luke hastened to reassure her. "That let's us know he hadn't turned off before he got here," and the girl responded with an unsteady sort of smile.

"We need maps," Luke said commandingly. "Anybody who's got one here, go get it; we've got to spread out."

There was a rush for the entrance as people dashed for their cars, and Luke turned deliberately to Sam.

"Luke, what happened?" Jo had joined them, Jake leaning heavily on her, Tommy pressed close to her other side, eyes frightened. "How...?"

Luke glanced quickly Jo, with a look drawing her and the boys into his conversation with Sam.

"The boys were on their bikes, coming back from the DQ, and someone ran them off the road. Jake said he was up ahead and had looked back to see where Dean was and didn't even seen the van coming. It must've just him a glancing blow because he's... " _still alive_. Luke couldn't seem to say the words.

"Sam, I'm sorry." Jake's whispered apology turned both men's attention to the battered boy. "I... I don't know what... He hit me, and I went down and then I must've... passed out or something because the next thing I knew Dean was there and he was telling me... it was going to be alright. And then... that guy. He... He was behind Dean and he grabbed him. And Dean was fighting and yelling and I tried, I _tried_ , but I couldn't get up... And he..."

Jake stuttered to a stop, and Jo, tears on her cheeks put her arms around him. "Oh, honey..."

But Jake's eyes were on Sam. "Sam..."

Sam face had gone stone hard at Jake's recitation of what had happened, but he cleared his throat.

"It wasn't your fault, Jake," he said hoarsely. "Don't..."

There was a commotion at the door as the people who'd gone to their vehicles returned.

"Can you take Jake to the hospital?" Luke asked Jo quickly and quietly. "He was conscious and somewhat mobile so I just shoved him into the truck and came here. We didn't have time... But he needs someone to look at him. He's probably concussed and he may have some broken ribs. Plus that knee."

He broke off his assessment, eyes back on the crowd.

Jo was already nodding, starting to move Jake gently toward the exit, arm coming out to maneuver Tommy around as well.

"Luke." She stopped and turned back, voice shaking.

He responded immediately, stepping close and giving her a quick hug. "We'll find him," he told her fiercely. "He'll be OK."

He turned to Tommy and reached out to put a hand on his head. "You gonna look after your mama and your brother for me, bud?" Swallowing, Tommy nodded, and Luke gave him a brief smile. "Good boy."

* * *

Dean's return to consciousness was abrupt and painful, the sudden contact of his diaphragm with something hard and the vague awareness of moving, a grip around his thighs, head in the wrong place, upside down, arms pinned, aching. He started to struggle.

The hold on his legs tightened, and he was swung sharply, temple colliding with something hard enough to daze him. He cried out in surprise and pain. The pace of whoever was holding him quickened and Dean tried not to throw up, head splitting and disoriented. He moaned, but continued to thrash weakly.

"Be still." His head cracked against something again, and he went limp across the shoulder he was slung across, losing track of what was happening.

He came to, queasy and confused as he was dropped onto the hard surface of a concrete floor. Dean tried to scramble up, bound heads searching for purchase to get him away, away...

But a hand on his shoulder jerked him up and around, the hand moving to his throat, gripping and lifting, shoving him brutally against a wall at his back. He bit down a cry as his abused head got another blow, but his hands came up pushing at the hands on him, feet kicking out.

He was wearing the old pair of Jake's boots, and he heard his captor grunt when the reinforced toes made contact with his shin. The hold around his throat loosened abruptly, and Dean slipped free. When he hit the ground he was already moving, letting adrenaline and fear propel him forward.

He didn't get far. A foot swept his own feet out from under him, and Dean flew forward, landing hard on his chest, bound hands trapped underneath, breath wheezing out of his lungs.

Behind him, Dean could hear someone coming, rage growling. A hand grabbed Dean's ankle, pulling... And Dean flipped onto his back, kicking wildly, feet coming up to protect himself, aiming like he'd been taught for that most sensitive parts of the male anatomy.

In a blur, Dean took in the man that had grabbed him. The guy was huge, almost Sam's height, but far bulkier, outweighing his brother by at least 50 pounds. His face was contorted with frustration and anger, clearly not prepared for the fight he was getting from Dean.

As Dean's booted foot thrashed up and out, the man tripped, weight and momentum bringing him down hard, Dean's heel catching him right where he'd meant to – the groin.

On a scream, the man collapsed, full weight landing heavily on Dean. Stunned, breath leaving him in a rush again, Dean felt his ribs creak as the man crashed onto him.

He couldn't breathe.

The man's inert bulk was pressing him down, crushing him, and Dean shoved desperately, trying to wriggle out from under the massive mound of flesh.

Moaning suddenly, the man tensed convulsively, aware enough of the slighter form under him to start grabbing, punching. Dean pushed back frantically, finally managing to squirm out from under the man, taking advantage of the guy's pain and confusion.

Dean was almost sobbing in relief when he got himself free, scrambling for all he was worth toward what looked like an exit – steep stairs leading up to a door, framed with light.

He'd made it to the middle of the staircase when he felt fingers wrap around his ankle, jerking, yanking him down and back.

Dean tumbled hard into his captor, arms like steel bands coming around his chest before they flung him against the wall he'd come in contact with first thing. Dazed, Dean slid to the ground on all fours, a fist that connected with his cheekbone, sending him the rest of the way to the floor. Gasping, Dean tried to crawl away, but it was no use. There was a hand on the nape of his neck, pushing his face into the concrete, a knee at the base of his spine, pinning him painfully where he'd fallen.

"You little _prick_ ," the man snarled in his ear. He was panting heavily, and Dean felt a small pulse of satisfaction at the agony in the man's voice. _Hadn't been expecting that had you, asshole?_

"You're going to pay for that, punk." The voice was a whisper against his cheek, and Dean could suddenly feel his heart pounding erratically in his chest, breath catching in recognition and fear.

_Nonononono_

A hand on the waistband of his jeans, tugging. "Please," Dean gasped, the word out of his mouth before it had even registered in Dean's terror-frozen mind. "Please." It escaped him again.

A large body stretched over his own, pressing him down. "That's what I like to hear," breathed into his ear.

Dean bucked desperately, hysteria taking over.

The weight got heavier, crushing him, trapping him. There were fingers in his hair and the huff of a laugh at his struggling before there was a groaned curse above him and the clutch of the nails across his scalp as the man grabbed a fistful of his hair, wrenching his head back hard, painfully. Dean cried out in surprise.

Then the pressure along his back was suddenly gone, and Dean started to scramble again.

But the vice-like grip on the nape of his neck reappeared, a knee digging once more into his spine.

"Goddamnit," was bitten out above him.

Immobilized, Dean lay still, trying to catch his breath, brain racing to figure out why the hands had stopped.

The fist to his ribs came out of nowhere and Dean gasped, trying to twist away, but there was no escape, and a rain of vicious blows struck him mercilessly on the head and torso.

By the time it was over he was barely aware what was happening, and he found himself tied to the brick wall he'd been thrown against. His boots were gone, and he could feel the chill of the floor through the thin fabric of his socks.

Dean huddled against the frigid brick, drawing himself into as small a ball as possible, desperately blinking tears and blood out of his eyes. When he could see again, exhausted and frightened, Dean watched his kidnapper.

The man crouched just feet away, hands clutching at his crotch, hatred blazing at the boy in front of him. "Don't think this is over," he ground out. "We got all the time in the world."

Dean didn't respond, struggling to catch his breath and make his face stay blank. The man finally staggered awkwardly to his feet, grinning horribly when Dean flinched away. Hobbling painfully, he stumbled toward the stairs.

"My brother's going to kill you," Dean whispered. It came out of his mouth unbidden. And he almost didn't recognize his own voice – young and scared. But sure.

The man paused, but didn't turn before he continued up the steps.

Dean said it again. "He's gonna kill you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief note – I should probably make it clear that this story isn't actually set during the current season of the show. The angst of everyone dealing with a missing little Dean on top of big Dean's deal with the devil was just… too much.
> 
> I'm sorry I'm so late in saying that. I hope that doesn't throw anyone off too badly.
> 
> I think it would work set during season 2 or even – perhaps – any season after this one.

Jo spent several hours at the hospital with Jake waiting for test results and news on his injuries. The boy had gone quiet on the ride into town and by the time he was being examined, Jake's responses were monosyllabic, his eyes glazed.

"He's got a mild case of shock," the doctor said softly as medical staff worked around him. "We'll take care of that, and then we'll deal with the rest." Rob put a hand on Jo's elbow. "He's going to fine, Josie. I don't see anything that won't heal up. But he's going to be moving slowly for awhile." He gave her a reassuring smile. "You and Tommy wait out front, alright?" He tousled Tommy's hair gently. "Your brother's going to be fine, OK, buddy?"

Tommy nodded. "'K," he whispered.

It was dark by the time they got home, and the diner was ablaze with light. Jo could see people at the tables, and Luke moving through the crowd. She angled the Suburban around the building toward the house in back.

There'd been some conversation about keeping Jake in the hospital overnight, but he'd been adamant (and almost in tears) that he should go home, and Jo had – selfishly she was afraid – supported Jake when Rob had admitted it wasn't absolutely necessary. Jake hadn't wanted to be so far from the search for Dean even if he wouldn't be able to be in the middle of things, and Jo was sympathetic to that desire.

With Tommy's help, she got Jake cleaned up and in bed. The late hour and pain medication had Jake almost asleep before she even got the covers pulled up over him. Tommy climbed onto the double bed with his brother, scooting close, and Jo didn't have the heart do uproot him to get in the bunk where he usually slept.

"Honey," she started quietly, just to remind her youngest that Jake probably wouldn't want to be cuddled. But Jake shifted, accommodating his little brother's presence, arm coming awkwardly around the younger boy when Tommy put his head on Jake's shoulder. Jo blinked. They never ceased to amaze her, these children and their ability to love each other so selflessly.

"You OK, baby?" she asked Jake, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. She put one palm flat against his chest, just over his heart, smoothing the other carefully over his head.

Jake nodded slightly, taking a shaky breath. "Mama." His voice was tight with repressed emotion. "Dean..."

Jo swallowed convulsively, vision going blurry as she continued to run her fingers through Jake's hair. Tommy watched her, eyes enormous in his pale face.

"We'll find him," she said, hating the tremor in her voice when she was trying to be a comfort. "He'll be OK." _He has to be._

Tommy reached across his brother to take his aunt's hand where it rested on Jake's chest. He threaded small fingers through hers.

"Do you want to pray?" she asked softly. Both boys nodded, and closing their eyes, they did.

* * *

When Jo left the boys' bedroom, she was surprised to see Jake's friend, Bud, sitting at the bottom of the front stairs waiting for her.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said. Confusion colored her voice, but she smiled tiredly as the boy got to his feet.

"Hey, Mrs. Sweed," he answered, watching her anxiously. "How's Jake doing?" he asked when Jo joined him on the landing, reaching up to give him a hug.

"He's going to be fine," she reassured him and was touched by the gentleness of the embrace he returned. She was used to bone-crunching hugs that lifted her feet off the ground from this particular boy. "He's asleep," she said, pulling back, and he nodded.

"There's not any news on Dean," he said quietly.

Jo brushed at a tear that escaped at his words. "OK," she whispered. "Thanks, honey."

Bud shifted awkwardly where he stood. "Do you want me to hang out here for awhile? So you can go..." He inclined his head uncertainly toward the diner. "I don't mind staying..."

Jo rubbed at her eyes, thinking. Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door, and Bud moved to open it. Marge came in, face tired, eyes assessing as they took in Jo.

"How's Jake, honey?" the woman asked, not waiting for a response before wrapping Jo in a hug. "How are you?"

Jo choked on a sob, struggling against the sudden urge to burst into tears, the kindness and comfort offering a refuge that was dangerous to accept right then. She tightened her arms around her friend, letting herself be held for a long minute.

When she could speak again, Jo said, "We're hanging in there." Carefully she extricated herself from Marge's embrace. "Bud's offered to stay here with the boys so I can...," she turned toward where the boy had been standing and found him looking like he might pass out from discomfort at finding himself in the middle of a potential female breakdown. She smiled at him sympathetically and continued. "...go see how things are going with the search."

Bud looked ridiculously relieved that she hadn't fallen apart on him and was nodding his agreement.

"You do that, honey," Marge said readily. "Buddy and I will keep an eye on the boys." She glanced up the stairs. "Is Tommy up there, too?"

"They're both asleep."

"Best thing for 'em," Marge agreed. "You go. We got it under control."

Bud looked a little less sure of that than Marge did, and he eyed the large woman somewhat apprehensively. But he smiled at Jo gamely. "Yes, ma'am. We got it."

Grateful, Jo agreed and hurried out the door.

The diner and motel were closed, but the dining area was serving as a base of sorts for the search parties that had fanned out across the county, private cars, horses, and a helicopter helping to look for Dean.

As Jo entered the diner she scanned the room and saw Luke hunched over a table, marking something on a map, talking into a cell phone.

"Yeah, I got it. Damn. OK." He ran a finger over the county plat in front of him. "Wait. There's..." He frowned, digging his finger tips into his forehead as he studied the map. "What about Dry Creek? I don't think..." He listened to what was being said on the other end of the call. "Yeah. Try there. It's a long shot, but..." He listened again. "Yeah. Yeah. Alright. Call me back."

He closed the phone and his eyes, rolling his neck before he put his head in his hands.

"Hey, darlin'," Jo eased into the booth next to Luke, slipping an arm around his back.

"Hey," he answered, bringing his head up and rubbing at his eyes. "How's Jake doing?"

Jo leaned into him, and Luke put his arm around her, pulling her close. She sighed. "He's going to be OK. I just put him and Tommy to bed. Marge's keeping an eye on them. And Bud." She put her head on his shoulder. "Any news?"

Luke just shook his head heavily, echoing her sigh. He withdrew his arm from her shoulders and sat forward, placing his forearms on either side of the map in front of him, studying it again.

Jo shifted so she could see, too, trying to decipher the scribbled comments and random circles and checks and exes that were scattered across the paper.

Jo gave up on trying to figure out what it all meant. "Where's Sam?"

Luke turned to peer over his shoulder.

Jo pivoted with him and saw Sam at the far corner booth, holding a phone to his ear.

"He's coordinating the search of the west canyons," Luke told her. "He was with the searchers for awhile, but he came back. I think he realized if he was out, he might not be here..."

Jo nodded her understanding. "But coordinating? Does he...?"

"Garry's helping, knows the country like the back of his hand. Sam's an excellent strategist. We've used him a lot on this. And he needs _something_..."

"OK," Jo said, sliding off the seat. "Have you eaten anything?"

Luke frowned as he looked down at the table in front of him vaguely, apparently thinking the evidence of food or drink might appear in front of him.

"I'll get you something," Jo said.

Luke's phone rang and his attention left her completely.

Sam was deep in conversation with Garry when Jo passed by their table, so she kept on going, planning on feeding Sam while she was taking care of Luke. Unsurprisingly, there was a buffet of food spread out along the counter, the response of the women in town who weren't out actively searching.

When she returned, Jo put a plate in front of Luke and proceeded to Sam, who was studying the map in front of him intently, twirling the pen in his fingers sporadically. Under the table his knee bounced jerkily.

"I got you something to eat," Jo said gently, sliding her offering of casserole and mashed potatoes toward him.

Sam looked at the plate briefly, almost hostilely, but he took the fork she put in his hand automatically. He put the pen down.

"How's Jake?" he asked, putting the fork in the potatoes, face closed as he moved them around sharply on the plate.

"He's going to be OK," she said, sitting down next to him.

Sam nodded. "Good," he said. He continued to abuse the food in front of him. Stabbing his fork into it, not eating.

She didn't say anything for a long minute.

In her mind, Jo ran through half-a-dozen possibilities, words of comfort, of encouragement. But even in her head, nothing sounded right.

"You gonna to eat that food or just torture it to death?" she asked, opting for an attempt at lightening the mood. The words didn't hit her until they were already out of her mouth.

The eyes Sam swung to her were dark with pain and a fury she had never seen from him before.

"You think Dean's eating?" he bit out with a viciousness that made her jerk in surprise, already horrified by what she'd said.

She felt tears sting her eyes, but she forced herself to meet Sam's angry, desperate gaze. "No, baby, I don't think he is," she whispered.

Sam blinked at her, reading the regret on her face, and the emotion drained away, leaving him pale and shaking slightly.

"I'm sorry." He put his head in his hands. "Jo, I didn't..."

"Don't, sweetie, don't," she said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. "It's OK. It was a stupid thing for me to say. I didn't..."

She could see Sam struggling almost physically to pull himself together – fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair, eyes squeezed shut. She wasn't sure how to help, whether she should stay with him or just leave him be. But because she wasn't one to leave anyone by himself in the midst of this kind of situation, she stayed where she was, rubbing his shoulder gingerly, alert to the slightest sign that she might be making things worse.

And if Sam didn't lean toward her, he didn't shrug her off either, so she stayed.

Soon enough she realized Sam had settled, saw him square his shoulders, watched the set of his jaw harden again.

She said quietly, tentatively, "Honey, I still think you need to eat something. You aren't going to be able to help Dean if you don't keep your energy up."

Sam didn't acknowledge her words out loud, but he picked up his fork and started to eat.

* * *

Dean pulled desperately at the ropes around his wrists, trying to work his hands out of the tight loops. He gritted his teeth against the pain, feeling the warm wetness of blood track down his arms.

_Come on, come on._

His eyes flicked briefly to the door and then back to his hands. Rotating his wrists, he pulled again. There was no give.

Dean took a shaking breath and paused, shifting where he was sitting, hoping that at a different angle... He tugged again and twisted his thumbs into his palms, jerking down. Tried again, this time more slowly, steady pulling, using all his weight, hoping to ease slickened hands free.

Nothing.

Dean banged his head sharply against the wall in frustration. He swiped a shoulder over his eyes, felt the panic and the fear rise in his chest again. He closed his eyes, trying to regain control, saw against the back of his eyelids, the van veer off the road, hitting Jake, Jake on the ground, so still...

 _Stop it_ , he told himself fiercely.

He wrenched his thoughts away. Jake had opened his eyes, had seen Dean. He wasn't... He couldn't be....

 _Don't_ , he thought desperately. _Think_

But it was hard. Hard to think, hard to...

The door at the head of the stairs creaked open.

Dean froze, eyes jumping the threat above him.

The man didn't say anything. Just stood there, shadowed and watching.

Even as Dean kept his eyes on the menace at the head of the stairs, he hunched, curling his body in on itself, instinct prompting him make himself as small as possible.

But Dean didn't look away. He glared defiantly, chin coming up.

_Not sure what to think, are you, you sick fuck?_

Dean didn't say anything out loud, just continued to stare until the man took a step backward. Closed the door again.

Slumping back against the wall, Dean struggled to calm his breathing and the panicked beat of his heart.

It had been tempting to voice what he'd been thinking, to rage against his weakness by striking out with words, pretending that he wasn't scared out of his mind, that it wasn't all he could do not to sob out his terror, to cry for his brother, wanting Sam.

But it had only been a fleeting temptation, one he'd known better than to indulge.

Provoking the man would have been stupid. Whatever brief satisfaction there might have been in seeing the look on the bastard's face at Dean's defiance, it would not have been worth the harm that probably would have followed.

As an adult, Dean was more than ready to take that kind of chance. Angry opponents were careless, sloppy. Taking a hit or two was a no-brainer price to pay for the benefit a good smart-ass comment often reaped.

Here, though...

Here, Dean knew he was too small. Knew he was too weak. Knew a couple of punches would put him down for the count, make him _more_ vulnerable than he already was. And he couldn't risk that.

 _Be smart, Dean._ It was his dad's voice in his head.

So Dean made himself think, went back to trying to on free himself; forced himself to work through possibilities, getting ready.

* * *

"Like hell I'm not going in."

Sam's response had been about what Luke had expected.

"Sam..." Luke tried using his "I'm calm and in charge" voice on Sam, but Sam was not having any of it.

"Screw you, Luke, you can't..." Sam stepped into Luke's space, unconsciously trying to use his height to browbeat the smaller man into giving way.

Luke knew that Sam was spoiling for a fight, pent up frustration boiling so close to the surface, the kid's skin was almost rippled from it. Sam pushed at Luke slightly, looking to force the issue.

Luke's stance didn't even shift, and he could read the confusion on Sam's face at this turn of events. In spite of his size – he wasn't that much shorter than Sam – Luke was fairly consistently underestimated in terms of the power behind his frame. Luke wasn't sure why that was (Jo thought it was because he was usually so gentle), but he'd learned over the years how to turn that initial surprise to his advantage.

Luke's hands came up, fisting in Sam's shirt and giving a shove sufficient to rock Sam back on his heels. It was enough to put Sam off balance, and Luke took the opportunity to man-handle Sam away from the huddle of law enforcement officers planning the assault. Once in motion, Sam moved easily in the direction Luke directed him, responsive to the large hand firmly on Sam's shoulder.

When they were outside, Luke turned Sam toward him, mimicking Sam's early posture, deliberately getting in Sam's face.

"Listen to me, Sam." Luke didn't give the boy a chance to open his mouth, overriding any protest by force of will. "You cannot go in with us; that's all there is to it. I'm already breaking rules to let you come at all, do you understand that?" He gave Sam's shoulders a hard shake.

Sam's jaw was clenched so tight, Luke thought he could hear the protesting grind of Sam's teeth. "Luke..."

"No, Sam."

"I have to be there! If something's happened..." Sam's voice was shaking, taut with fear and a rage that Luke understood, but that still concerned him.

"You'll be there." Luke kept his voice carefully steady. "You'll be right outside, Sam. But you're not going in." He gave the young man in front of him his most sheriff-like, authoritative stare. "And that's final."

Face stony, Sam finally nodded tightly, eyes narrowed with anger and... rebellion.

Watching Sam stalk away, Luke sighed. He might need to use that extra set of handcuffs after all.

* * *

Dean could hear the commotion—running, stumbling footsteps on the floor above him, sounds of struggle, voices raised and the startling reports of guns.

"Hey!" he yelled, straining at the ropes around his hands where they were still attached to the cellar wall. "Down here! Help!"

There was no pause in the noise as he cried out, and Dean quieted, waiting, heart pounding uncomfortably against his ribs.

When the fighting was over, Dean held himself completely still, suddenly afraid to call out, not sure who would come.

"Dean!" Sam's voice overhead, deep and urgent.

Dean sucked back a sob of relief. "Sam! Sammy!" His mind couldn't seem to form more than his brother's name.

Dean could hear the thump of feet above his head, and his eyes tried to track their progress by sound.

"Dean?" Again, demanding, still upstairs.

"Sammy!" He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. _Tell him where you are, idiot._

"Sammy!"

_No._

He tried again. "Down here!"

_Better. More. (Sammy.)_

"I'm in the basement!" Dean finally got it out.

The door above him wrenched open, and Sam's tall frame filled it briefly before his brother was hurtling down the stairs. Sam clattered toward him and more shadows blocked the light from upstairs.

Dean skittered back against the wall. _Who..?_

He tore his eyes away from the door, searching almost desperately for Sam, who had come to an abrupt stop, casting around in the darkness.

"Dean?" Breathless.

"Sammy." It wasn't more than a whisper this time, so he was relieved when Sam's head snapped in his direction. His brother took four running steps to drop down next to Dean. Dean's eyes went back to the rectangle of light at the top of the stairs.

"Dean. God, Dean," Sam's hands were shaking as they skimmed over his face where blood had flowed from the blows to the head he'd taken. Touched lightly at his wrists, took a sharp intake of breath at their condition.

"Sam?" Luke's voice sounded above them, and a looming shadow appeared at the head of the stairs.

"I've got him," Sam called back, never stopping his inspection of his brother.

Dean could make out Luke's large shape in the doorway, hesitating, then moving back, pushing others away behind him. Stopping anyone else from entering. Standing guard.

"Are you hurt?" Sam asked frantically, fumbling out a knife to saw at the bindings around Dean's wrists. Unable to answer, Dean just shook his head, not meeting his brother's eyes, focused on his bound hands.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was low and scared as the ties came free.

Dean still didn't make a sound, but his hands reached out to clutch at Sam's solid bulk.

Arms came around him, and Sam's voice was in his ear, asking him over and over if he was OK.

Dean couldn't form the words, could only answer by nodding his head, twisting his fingers in Sam's shirt, pressing himself as close to his brother as he could.

Abruptly Sam's hold on him somehow both eased and tightened at the same time, tone changing from terrified-little-brother to comforting-big-brother in the span of a single breath.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam soothed.

Some part of Dean smiled at the thought that he could practically hear the _clank_ as Sam shifted gears. "You're OK," Sam almost crooned. "I've got you. You're OK."

Dean couldn't seem to stop himself from practically crawling into his brother's lap, not able, at the moment, to think beyond _Sam_ and _safe_.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but when Dean felt like he could say something other than his brother's name, he pushed unsteadily away, bringing up a hand to wipe it across his damp face.

"You're making pink mud," Sam said softly, fingers coming up to brush at the wetness just under Dean's left eye.

"I'm sweaty," Dean said shakily.

Sam nodded and moved his hand to Dean's forehead, pushing matted hair out of the way. The touch had changed—still (always) gentle, but businesslike now, assessing.

Gently Sam probed the gash in his hairline. "You might need stitches."

Dean nodded heavily.

"And your wrists are a mess." Sam paused. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" His voice, halting and taut, brought Dean's eyes up to his brother's face.

"No," Dean answered, wavering, recognizing what Sam was asking.

"Dean..."

"I'm not, Sam. He didn't..." Dean came close to choking on the residual terror at the helplessness of the last hours. He couldn't...

Sam nodded tightly, and Dean saw a flash of something in Sam's eyes.

"Thank God," Sam whispered, the backs of his fingers ghosting over Dean's cheek.

Dean looked away, somewhere—anywhere—else.

"Can you stand?" Sam asked carefully.

Dean clambered to his feet with his brother's help, taking a second to steady himself, leaning against Sam.

"You got it?" Sam looked down at him, face creased with worry, his large hand cupping the back of Dean's head.

"Yeah," Dean said. He managed an experimental pace away from Sam, and his brother took a quick, small step to keep even with him, not quite covering the exasperated snort when Dean wavered slightly.

"I got it, Sam," Dean said, flinching away from his brother's touch, unsteady in more than one way and hating it. He overbalanced, and Sam caught him before he went down.

"Don't be an idiot, Dean," Sam said. Gently. _Damn him._ But Dean let the warm hand on his elbow stay where it was. He wanted out of this place, whatever it took.

Luke met them at the top of the stairs.

"He's OK," Sam said quickly, reading with Dean the fear on the older man's face. "He may need some stitches, and..."

Luke nodded, still reaching for Dean, checking him over with a thoroughness their father would have approved of.

When he'd confirmed Sam's assessment, Luke pulled Dean close. "Thank God," he breathed.

Dean felt the press of lips against his temple, and he suddenly wanted his father with such a sharp, powerful ache that he couldn't hold back the startled sob. Luke's grip on him faltered for a beat before tightening again.

Dean grabbed at him desperately, trying to keep himself from flying apart.

"Dad." It whispered out of Dean, filled with longing and need.

Luke's in-drawn breath told Dean that he'd heard, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Afraid that Luke would misunderstand.

"I know, kiddo," Luke whispered for Dean alone. "I'm sorry."

And Dean knew that Luke hadn't misunderstood.

But Luke also didn't let him go, and Dean held on.

When Dean relaxed his grip, Luke pulled back slowly. Shrugging off his jacket, Luke wrapped it around Dean and maneuvered him back to Sam, efficiently tucking the boy into Sam's side when Sam raised his arm to pull him close. Between the two of them, Sam and Luke ushered Dean out of the house, shielding him from curious, concerned eyes as Luke bustled them toward his truck.

The EMT met them at the passenger side, helping Sam get Dean seated, leaving the boy's feet dangling out the door of the truck. She opened her med kit with a grim efficiency, giving Luke a brief hard look.

"He's dead."

Dean felt a chill shudder through his body, and he flinched when Sam snapped, "Good." At the same time Luke said sharply, "Karen."

The woman's eyes went to Dean's, and she blinked, face softening almost imperceptibly. "Sorry," she murmured, reaching to move the hair off his forehead. Dean didn't respond, just leaned his shoulder into the back of the seat.

Dean couldn't keep his eye lids above half-mast during the examination, unable to expend the energy to pay attention to what was being done. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam's form slumped against the side of the truck, arms across his chest, close enough to be reassuring, but not touching, holding himself stiff even in his slouch. Dean was vaguely aware of Sam's voice mixed with Luke's and the woman's as his forehead and wrists were cleaned and bandaged.

He jumped when his shirt was lifted, and he made a soft, uncontrolled sound in his throat, eyes coming open, looking for Sam, pushing desperately at the invasive hands.

But Sam was already there.

"It's OK, Dean," Sam murmured, soft reassurance as he crouched in front of his brother. He put a gentling hand on Dean's knee. "She just needs to check your ribs." Sam's fingers kneaded his leg soothingly. "OK?"

Dean stared at his brother and then with a single hitch to his breath, settled under Sam's touch. Dean's eyes slid away, and the exam continued, more careful now. Gradually, Dean relaxed again, eyes slipping fully shut, trusting that Sam would watch.

Hands under his knees, shifting him, brought Dean out of the stupor he'd fallen into.

He jerked, startling. "Wh...?"

"I'm just moving you over." Sam said easily, voice pitched to soothe. "We're going home."

Dean tried to help, scooting clumsily, until he felt the truck rock under him, Sam climbing up beside him. "You're good," Sam told him, an arm going around Dean's shoulders to keep him from going any further.

"You warm enough?" Sam leaned over him and the engine started.

Dean watched blearily as Sam fiddled with the heater controls. Warm air fluttered out of the vents, and Sam pulled Luke's jacket more closely around Dean's chest.

"'m fine, Sammy," Dean mumbled even as he hunched deeper into the warmth of the coat.

"OK," Sam agreed, tugging Dean into an embrace that Dean couldn't make himself try to avoid.

The cab dipped again, the driver side door closing firmly.

Dean turned his head to look at Luke.

Luke gave him a small smile. "Let's get you home," he said.

Dean nodded his agreement and then startled in sudden memory and fear. "Jake. Sammy, Jake. Luke." He jerked in Sam's arms, struggling weakly when Sam tried to hold him still.

"He's OK, Dean, he's OK." Sam had clamped down harder than he'd meant to, but the panicked movement of his brother had scared him, and he was trying to calm his own racing heart even as he felt Dean's going a mile a minute beneath his hand. "He's OK, Dean. Settle down."

But Sam's trying to restrain him seemed to push Dean past hearing, and he was suddenly all fight or flight and apparently trying to do both at the same time. He shoved at Sam, desperate, adrenaline fueled reaction taking over.

"He hit him! He hit him with the van and he was bleeding and I couldn't..." Dean's breath was coming in ragged gasps, and he twisted violently in Sam's arms. "Let go! I can't... Jake!"

Unsure what to do, Sam tried to ease his hold on his brother. Unfortunately, at the same moment, Dean gave a particularly energetic push, and Sam let go in surprise, Dean tumbling out of his arms. Sam lunged forward to steady his brother, but only succeeded in driving the increasingly hysterical boy right into Luke's solid bulk.

"Whoa!"

Luke fell back against the driver's side door, throwing his arms up and out, afraid that if he touched Dean he'd only make the situation worse. He added his voice to Sam's. "Dean, Jake's OK. He's OK, buddy. He's OK."

Sam had mimicked Luke's posture, moving back, not touching. But one hand stayed slightly extended, palm out toward Dean's trembling body. "It's OK, Dean. Jake's OK."

There was no place for Dean to go, and he didn't even seem to realize that his back was pressed against someone as cowered away, panting, eyes wide on Sam, momentarily seeing only what was racing through his mind, not registering his brother's face or the attempts to calm him.

Not sure what else to do Luke and Sam kept up the low murmur of "Jake's OK, Dean, he's OK," both hoping that eventually Dean would recognize the words.

And finally, Dean stilled, trembling against Luke, his eyes fixed, blinking erratically, on Sam.

"H-He is?" Dean stuttered breathlessly.

"Yeah, he is," Sam reassured him.

"He's not dead? That guy didn't...?" Dean's voice was starting to rise in panic at the thought, at the fear he'd had.

"No, Dean he's not," Sam broke in quickly. "I promise you, OK? He's OK, he's home with Jo right now. He's safe."

Dean watched Sam a little longer, trying to process what he'd been told. When he finally took a shuddering breath of acceptance, Luke lowered his arm carefully until he'd eased it around the boy huddled next to him. Dean didn't tense, and Luke tightened the embrace minutely. He felt Dean relax against his side, the boy's blood still pounding, but the rapid pulse starting to slow.

"Alright," Luke said softly, more to himself than anyone else. And after a minute, to Dean, "You alright?"

Dean nodded jerkily, exhausted and dazed.

"That's my boy," Luke said. "Let's scoot you over, OK? Get you home." He raised his eyes to Sam, who was reaching for Dean even as Luke started to nudge the boy closer.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled, embarrassment creeping in as he slowly started to realize what had happened. "Sammy, 'm sorry."

"It's OK, Dean," Sam said steadily, though his heart continued to race. He got Dean arranged as quickly as he could, contact matter-of-fact, unconsciously falling back into their father's business-like dealings with them when they were injured.

And Dean settled in without another sound, accepting Sam's sheltering arm around his shoulders as Luke put the truck in gear and started them for home.


	6. Chapter 6

"He asleep?" Luke didn't take his eyes off the road in front of them.

Sam glanced down at his brother, canting his head slightly to see if he could get a look at Dean's face. The fact that Dean hadn't responded to Luke's whispered question was probably answer enough.

Pressed tight against Sam in the cab of Luke's truck, Dean had fought a losing battle with sleep, head jerking and drooping until finally his cheek rested against Sam's chest. In the pale light of the full moon that shone into the car, Sam could see the slack expression on Dean's face. For the moment, he was sound asleep.

"Yeah," Sam answered, raising his head to glance over at Luke.

Luke breathed out a sigh. "Good."

Sam nodded, turning to stare out the windshield, a hand coming up to rest lightly on the top of Dean's head.

"You OK?" Luke's quiet voice.

Sam's fingers moved distractedly though Dean's short hair. It was stiff with sweat and dried blood, and Sam's arm tightened almost convulsively around his brother. Dean made a vague noise of protest, head moving restlessly before he rubbed his face into Sam's shirt and settled with a sigh.

"I almost lost him," Sam whispered when he was sure Dean was out again.

"We got him back."

"Yeah, but..." Sam shook his head. "He's my responsibility. My little brother. For now at least. And I... I acted like he could take care of himself, and he's just a _kid..._ "

"You didn't do anything wrong, Sam. They were riding their bikes. It could as easily have been Jake." Luke's throat closed on that. _It could as easily have been Jake_.

"I should have watched him closer. I didn't _think_. That he could get taken, that he couldn't _protect_ himself." Sam was speaking quietly, but the fierceness of his voice seemed to echo in the cab.

"Sam," Luke started, feeling his way. "He's not a normal kid. It... makes sense that maybe you – hell, we – wouldn't see him as as vulnerable as we see the other kids. That..." He trailed off. "Although, we've let the boys ride their bikes to the DQ lots of times." He shook his head. "I'm just saying..."

"He always protected me," Sam interrupted. " _Always_. And I..."

"Sammy, I know that's true," Luke interrupted back. "But, kiddo, I'm sure he didn't do everything perfectly. And if you're going to see this as a mistake, you've got to be willing to learn from it and go on. I'm not saying don't grieve or be sorry about what's happened, Sam. But you can't..."

Luke trailed off.

Sam was staring out the front windshield, a muscle in his jaw jumping angrily as tears trailed down his face. He wasn't listening, and he would not be comforted. Not now.

So Luke stopped trying.

* * *

Luke's phone call had been brusque, the passing of information – _we found him; he's pretty banged up, but he'll be OK; we'll be on our way soon_ – no comfort or words of encouragement. Jo knew better to expect husbandly courtesies when Luke was in sheriff-mode, so she'd accepted what he told her with a quiet, "OK. We'll be here," before she hung up. Three sets of anxious eyes watched her as she set the receiver down.

"They found him, and he's going to be OK."

Tommy jumped up and threw himself at her, Jake and Michael moving more slowly toward them, wrapping their arms around both of them. They stood there—just still—for a minute before she kissed them all and moved away, wiping away tears of relief.

It was Tommy who settled himself on the porch to watch and his "They're here!" sent Jo and Jake to the front of the house. Michael – who had gotten home in time to join the search, but been banned from the rescue operation with the rest of the civilians – had headed to the diner to let the others know the news. He hadn't returned.

Sam was easing out of the passenger side of the truck as Jo ran down the front steps. He reached back into the cab and emerged with Dean in his arms.

Jo rounded the hood of the truck, and Sam adjusted his load, shifting so that Dean was snugged tight against him, the boy's face turned into Sam's neck, too big jacket, filthy t-shirt and jeans, legs swinging loosely as Sam got his brother settled in the cradle of his arms.

"He's just asleep," Sam said roughly, and Jo nodded, reaching out a shaking hand to touch Dean's face, dried blood and grime masking him.

She felt Luke's hand on her shoulder, pulling her against him. "Not even stitches," he reassured her. "Mostly bruises and a couple of gashes that bled like crazy."

She nodded again, giving Luke a brief hug before she turned to lead Sam into the house. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dark shadow of Michael's form sprinting toward them from the diner.

"Let's get him in bed." She reached back to give Sam's elbow a quick, sympathetic squeeze. "And you, too, baby."

Jake and Tommy had stayed on the porch out of the way, but as Sam climbed the steps, both boys took uncertain steps forward to meet Sam at the top.

"He's going to be OK," Sam said softly, stopping next to the brothers to let them look at the boy in his arms.

"He is?" Tommy asked, hand sneaking out to brush the denim of Dean's jeans uncertainly.

Jake was quiet, face ashen in the porch light as his eyes skimmed the length of Dean before they came up to meet Sam's. Michael had come up behind his younger brother, one hand resting on Jake's shoulder.

"Yeah, he is." Sam smiled briefly and made a point of holding Jake's gaze. "He's OK, Jake. Get the door for me?" he prodded gently. Jake hobbled awkwardly to obey, Michael there to steady him, while Tommy trailed after, grabbing Luke's hand as his uncle brought up the rear.

In the house, Luke corralled the younger boys before they got to the Winchesters' room, herding them into the kitchen, distracting them with requests for food and coffee while Jo helped Sam with Dean.

Jo entered the bedroom ahead of them, pulling back the covers of Dean's bed for Sam. When Sam lay Dean down, Jo went to work on the boy's feet, carefully pulling off grungy socks and adjusting the bed clothes while Sam eased the t-shirt over his brother's head and stripped him of his jeans.

Dean was filthy, tracks of tears through the grayish pink film on his cheeks; sweat and dirt mottled his arms and legs. His thin chest was bruised, streaked with smears of blood. Sam's jaw was clenched as he pulled the sheets up over his brother's battered body. Dean sighed and rolled over, tucking into a ball, face aimed at Sam's bed, even in his sleep.

Sam moved around Dean's bed to a spot that would put him in Dean's eye line when the boy woke up, sinking onto his own bed. Jo sat down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. She smiled sadly when she felt Sam hunch down into her embrace. With Dean home, he would accept her comfort.

"He's going to be OK," she tried to reassure him softly.

"Yeah," Sam whispered.

They sat for awhile before Sam turned away from her with a sigh to lie down on his bed. She stood to let him stretch out, and he did so with a muffled groan.

"Are you hungry, sweetie? I could bring you a sandwich." She shifted toward the head of the bed, careful not to block Dean from Sam's view. Unable to help herself, she sat back down on the edge of the mattress once Sam had gotten himself settled. He'd curled onto his side, facing his brother and she reached out to smooth bangs out of his eyes.

Sam shook his head slightly. "I'm OK." His gaze left Dean long enough to look up at her and give her a wan smile. "Thanks. I think I'm just gonna... you know, stay..."

"Sure." She rubbed his arm as she stood, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. "Get some sleep."

He made a vague noise of assent.

Jo turned to Dean and repeated the ritual with him, lingering a little longer over the kiss and having to pause to wipe the dampness off his face where her tears had fallen on him.

"Sorry, baby," she whispered, and he curled in on himself at her touch, mumbling something in his sleep. "You're home," she said softly. "You're safe."

Dean seemed to sigh his acknowledgement of her voice, her words; and Jo tiptoed out of the room.

* * *

It was almost three in the morning when Sam awoke to Dean standing next to his bed. In the green glow of the digital clock on the bedside table, Sam could see that Dean was shaking, arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

"Dean?" he asked hoarsely, brain struggling sluggishly to process a situation that really didn't compute.

In answer, Dean inched closer and when Sam moved to sit up, raising the covers to get out of bed, he was surprised to have his brother scoot into bed next to him.

"Dean?" he said again.

Dean still didn't say anything, but pressed into Sam's side. And reflexively, if uncertainly, Sam eased back down onto the mattress, rolling awkwardly to put his arms around his brother. He could feel the tremors running through Dean's body.

"Hey, it's OK," Sam whispered, shifting his hold gently. "It's OK."

Dean nodded against Sam's chest, arms tucked up tight between them. More often comforted than comforter, Sam hesitated a beat before he pressed his lips against the crown of Dean's head, whispering vague reassurance into his brother's hair.

"I've got you," Sam murmured softly. "You're safe."

And he felt a hitch of breath against his sternum, moist air dampening the fabric of his t-shirt and the unsteady movement of the narrow shoulders in his embrace. Dean didn't speak, and Sam forced himself not to ask what was wrong (he knew), just pulled his brother as close as he could and held on.

Sam wasn't sure how long they lay there, but eventually the shudders stilled, and he felt Dean relax against him by degrees, breath evening out as the boy fell back into an uneasy sleep.

It was awhile before Sam joined him.

* * *

The next morning when Sam woke up, Dean was in his own bed, stretched out on his stomach, one hand hidden underneath the pillow.

If the knife was there, Dean had gotten it out of his bag during the night, and Sam would have to think about that later.

For now, he checked to see how Dean was sleeping, and since his brother didn't stir when Sam pulled the covers back up over his shoulders, he decided it would be safe to take a quick shower and grab some coffee.

Still damp and in his bare feet, Sam padded into the kitchen after he'd looked in again on Dean.

"Morning," he said. The whole family was seated at the table, breakfast dishes cleared, reading or, in Luke's case, working on the crossword puzzle.

Tommy almost knocked his chair over he got up so quickly. "Is Dean awake?"

"No, buddy, he's not," Sam said, accepting the mug of coffee Michael offered him. "He's still asleep." He paused, squinting uncertainly at Jo and Luke before he looked over at Tommy again. "And he's kinda... unsettled... or something, right now, OK, so..."

Jo was already nodding. "We figured, sweetie. And the boys know that they're not to go looking for Dean. He'll come out when he's ready. Right, Tommy? You understand that."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. He did understand. But it was hard.

"Are you hungry, Sam?" Jo asked as she stood. Sam nodded. She reached into the fridge and pulled out a bowl with pancake batter in it. "How are you doing, honey?" she asked, fiddling with the burners on the stove top.

Sam shrugged. "OK, I guess. Glad he's safe."

There was a general murmur of agreement at that statement.

Luke was watching him carefully, and Sam looked the other man in the eye, knew his gaze was clearer than it had been the night before. He gave Luke a fleeting smile. _I heard you. I'm better. Thank you._

"We need to take him to the doctor today," Luke reminded him, and Sam nodded in return, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wondered how big a fight it would be to get Dean to agree to that. Not that he was going to have a say in the matter. The days of Sam not taking his role as big brother seriously were over.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "I don't know how long he'll sleep, but..."

"I've made an appointment for him with Rob late this afternoon," Jo told Sam. "We'll need to take him into the hospital, but Rob said he could check him over there."

Sam sighed. "That's great. Thank you."

When his pancakes were ready, Sam ate them silently, quickly getting lost in the restless thoughts that had plagued him since he'd woken up.

He found himself vaguely unsettled by Dean's trip to his bed the night before. Not that Sam blamed Dean. Of course he didn't. But Dean didn't _do_ that. Not with Sam.

Sam hated this tickle of unease he was feeling at Dean's neediness. Hated the _whoa_ and _wait_ and _I don't know how to do this_ that almost strangled him when he thought about it.

But, of course, Sam had wanted this. Kind of. He'd wanted Dean to let his guard down, to trust Sam with what he was feeling. And Sam thought they'd both made some significant strides in that area. Dean was increasingly willing to reveal more of himself to Sam, and Sam was learning to respect Dean's need to process things before talking about them.

But this... Dean so vulnerable, defenses almost shattered. Seeking Sam out, _wanting_ him, needing comfort and reassurance.

It was scaring the crap out of him.

He'd been so lost in his reverie, Sam was surprised when he was finished his meal to look up and find the kitchen empty except for him and the adult Sweeds.

"Where are the boys?" he asked, confused, getting up to take his plate to the sink.

"Michael took Jake up to lie down, and then he's going to run Tommy into town to see a movie." Jo smiled. "That seemed like a better way to keep Tommy out of Dean's hair than expecting him to exercise any self-control at all."

Sam couldn't help the laugh. "You're probably right," he said. "How's Jake doing?" he asked. He rinsed off his dish and put in the machine.

Jo shrugged. "He's stiff and in pain. The medication's making him groggy. And," she said with a grimace, "grumpy, as well."

Luke grunted his disapproval, and Sam raised an amused eyebrow at him. "Turns out I eat too loud," Luke said, sounding pretty grumpy himself.

Sam had refilled his mug, and he sat with Luke and Jo absently listening to Jo and Luke work the crossword puzzle out loud together.

Finishing up his coffee, Sam stood again and hesitated before he said, "I'm going to go back to our room, I think. Just be there, if I can, when he..." He stopped. It felt weird to assume that Dean might want him there when he woke up—presumptuous and... a little risky given how his brother usually reacted to being thought needy.

"I think that's a good idea, honey," Jo said understandingly. "If he's hungry when he wakes up, he doesn't need to come out to the kitchen, OK? You just let us know and we'll bring something in to y'all." She paused with an uncertain frown. "Unless he wants to come out and then..."

Sam smiled at her. "Thanks, Jo."

On his way to the bedroom, he saw Michael shepherding Tommy out the front door. Sam raised a hand to them both and couldn't help the small grin when Tommy tried to side-step his oldest brother only to be blocked efficiently by Michael, who took him firmly by the shoulders, and maneuvered him deliberately out the door.

Dean was still dead to the world when Sam entered the room, not stirring at the soft snick of the door as it closed behind Sam. Making his way to his own bed, Sam jerked the covers up over the sheets, making the bed haphazardly before he dropped onto it. He spent a long moment watching his brother sleep and then picked his book up from the bedside table and settled in to wait.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean woke to the sight of his brother on the other bed. Freakishly long legs were drawn up and a book was propped against Sam's thighs almost at his knees. Sam turned the page.

Dean blinked groggily as he watched Sam. Once. Twice. Sam's head swiveled toward him.

"Hey." Sam put the paperback down. He looked at Dean searchingly. "How're you doin'?"

Dean thought about that for a second. "OK, I guess." He knew the minute he moved, he'd hurt all over, so he stayed still.

"Yeah?" Sam continued to study him somberly. He'd swung his legs off the bed, perching carefully on the edge of the mattress. He seemed to be taking his cue from Dean and simply sat. Waiting.

Dean closed his eyes under his brother's scrutiny. "Yeah."

After a minute, Dean sighed. He was going to have to get up sometime. He braced himself, and levered himself into a sitting – or more accurately – hunching position.

 _Crap_. He did hurt all over.

"You OK?" Sam's hand was there on his elbow, warm palm, long fingers wrapping carefully around Dean's arm.

"Yeah," Dean said again. He shifted so that he was more upright. "Just sore."

When he looked up at Sam, Dean could see the tight, worried pinch on his brother's face. Sam eased back, sitting again on his own bed when Dean looked more comfortable.

"Jo's made an appointment with Dr. Jones for you this afternoon."

Dean squinted at the clock. 12:03. "Sammy…" he started, but Sam just shook his head.

"It's not up for debate, Dean," Sam said without any kind of heat. His voice was firm and eerily Dad-like in its assumption of obedience. "You understand?"

"Yes, sir," Dean mumbled, acquiescence automatic.

Their eyes met, both startled at Dean's response.

They stared at each other until, in the face of Dean's silence, Sam said a little shakily, "Alright then."

Dean dropped his eyes.

"You want to get cleaned up?" Sam asked. "You're kind of a mess," he added, teasing lightly, testing.

The sheets beneath him were gritty, gray with dirt. Dean wrinkled his nose. "Yeah." He looked over at his brother. "OK."

Sam helped him totter to the bathroom, closing the door behind him once he was sure Dean could get undressed without tipping over. It wasn't like he had much to take off – someone had already stripped him to his skivvies. _Please God let it have been Sam and not Jo._

The shower felt good on Dean's aching body, and he turned the water on as hot as he could stand it. Let the mild scald and Ivory soap begin its work of washing away the smell and feel of the basement, the man, the memory and the helplessness.

When Dean stepped out of the bathtub, Sam was there, handing him a towel, eyes skimming over Dean's wrists and torso, jumping up to the place just at Dean's hairline that had gotten the butterfly the night before. Dean dried off stiffly, wrapping the towel around his waist before he sat on the closed toilet seat where Sam directed him. Sam folded himself almost double to balance his butt on the edge of the porcelain tub.

"Let me look," Sam said, hand on Dean's chin turning him so that Sam could get a better look at the head wound. He pulled the band-aid off and cleaned the gash carefully, dabbing a blob of antibiotic cream onto it.

"Do you think Jo will cry?" Dean asked suddenly as Sam reapplied the butterfly bandage to his forehead.

Sam pursed his lips, keeping his eyes on the task in front of him. "Yeah. I think it's pretty likely she's going to cry."

Dean nodded slightly. "Yeah," he agreed. He'd been expecting that, but it still made his stomach turn over queasily; he was never sure what to do with female tears.

"In fact," Sam smoothed the tape down around the wound. "I think it's possible that more people than just Jo might cry."

Finished rebandaging his brother, Sam looked Dean in the eyes sympathetically.

Dean felt the pit in his stomach expand exponentially. "Why?" he whispered, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. He didn't like the idea of anyone crying over him. He didn't want that.

"Because people were scared for you, Dean" Sam said. He stood and started to mess with the first-aid kit. He wasn't looking at Dean, but Dean could see the tenseness across Sam's shoulders as his brother turned away from him. "There were a bunch of people who helped look for you. People who… who know you, who care about you. People who were afraid you'd be hurt, and …who're going to be relieved that you're OK." Sam's voice was tight, and Dean felt his own throat close up at the emotion Sam was trying not to show him.

"Oh," Dean said softly. He bit his lip.

Sam had turned and was regarding Dean steadily. "Can you handle that?" he asked gently, hand reaching out to cup the side of Dean's face. His thumb skimmed lightly back and forth over Dean's cheek.

Dean blinked up at his brother, eyes wide with uncertainty at the tenderness in Sam's touch and his voice. He swallowed. "Yeah," Dean said.

"I know it's going to suck for you, man," Sam said. He looked self-conscious all of a sudden, dropping his hand awkwardly. "And I'll do what I can. But…"

"It's OK," Dean said quietly. "I'll be OK."

Sam watched him for a second, then nodded. "How're your wrists?" he asked, moving on to the next thing.

Dean held up both hands for inspection, and Sam frowned over them, taking the antibiotic cream out of the bag again, slathering it on before wrapping the wrists loosely.

"OK," Sam said. "I think that's what I can do." He was packing away the medical supplies. "You hungry?"

Dean's stomach growled noisily in answer, and they both laughed out loud, tension draining away.

"Guess so," Sam grinned. "You want to eat in the room? Or are you ready to venture out?"

Taking a deep breath, Dean squared his shoulders. "I'll get dressed."

* * *

Sam left him in the bedroom while Dean put on some clothes. Dean had been surprised and more than a little dismayed by the pang of anxiety that twisted his gut when the door shut behind Sam, leaving Dean on his own.

He dressed quickly, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, easing an A&M sweatshirt of Jake's over his head, gasping at the tug on bruises across his chest in spite of his care. It took him a minute to catch his breath, and he was just bracing himself to open the door when it swung open on its own. Sam stood in the entryway.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Part of Dean hated that Sam had felt the need to come escort him out. Part of him was ridiculously grateful.

"It's just Jo and Luke and Jake out there right now. Michael's been trying to keep Tommy occupied while you were asleep." Sam smiled ruefully at Dean. "I think Jo was afraid Tommy would sneak into bed with you if she didn't find a way to distract him."

Dean chuffed out a breath. "Might have kept me from getting in bed with you," he muttered, unthinking.

And there they were again. Both startled into immobility by Dean's vulnerability.

"I didn't care, Dean," Sam said quietly. "I don't."

Appalled at his lack of control, Dean didn't respond, swallowing back stinging tears and an unbearable ache, humiliation and need making it hard to draw air into his lungs.

Mercifully, Sam didn't push, moving into the room and shutting the door behind him. He ignored Dean, giving his brother time to pull himself together as he stripped the beds. When he was finished, arms full of sheets, Sam ran an assessing eye over Dean. "You ready?" he asked again.

Steadier, Dean nodded, though he still refused to look at Sam. "Yeah." And he slipped out of the room in front of his brother.

He regretted his flight a couple of seconds later, though, when he was confronted by the Sweeds in the family room, three faces turning to him as he hesitated in the doorway. And then Sam was there. Hand steady on the nape of Dean's neck.

"Hey," Sam said for them both.

"Hey." Luke was first to respond, less awkward than the others because he'd had his moment with Dean the night before. "How're you feeling, kiddo?"

"OK," Dean said.

"Sweetie." Jo was suddenly beside him, reaching, but cautious, gauging his reaction, careful of it.

"Hey," Dean returned unsteadily. And stepped into her arms.

She pulled him in, and Dean pressed his face into the hollow of her neck, letting the murmur of her reassurances wash over him, not listening so much to the words, but absorbing the comfort of her voice and presence.

When he eased back, Jo did, too, wiping tears—his and hers—off his face.

"You ready for something to eat?" she asked softly, watching him with a tender, searching look on her face that made Dean's heart constrict painfully in his chest.

Dean nodded, but his eyes had strayed to Jake who was standing, stiff and pale, a couple of paces behind Jo.

"Hey," Dean said to him shakily. He watched the other boy closely, taking in the bruises and crutches. "Are you OK?" he asked, voice breaking on the last word.

"Yeah," Jake whispered, a muscle in his jaw working. He shifted awkwardly. "Are you?" he asked.

When Dean nodded, the tears that had been standing in Jake's eyes spilled over, running messily down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Dean," he choked. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't, Jake," Dean said almost desperately. "Don't." He reached out, reacting without thought to Jake's grief. "It's OK. It wasn't your fault."

Jake's chin dropped almost to his chest, and he was shaking his head. Dean's hand closed around Jake's arm and the two boys stood that way for a long moment. Finally, Jake brought his own hand up to swipe at the wetness on his face.

"I'm sorry," Jake said again, this time apologizing for crying.

"You're such a girl," Dean teased gruffly, his voice rough with unshed tears.

Jake's lips quirked up as he nodded, accepting this with a smile. But he reached out to grab Dean's arm and tugged the smaller boy into a tight hug. Eyes closing, Dean brought his arms up, too, holding onto Jake as hard as Jake was him.

Ultimately, it was Jake who broke the embrace. He cleared his throat. "OK," he said, moving Dean slightly away.

Dean took a step back. "Yeah," he agreed with a sniff.

* * *

"Sammy's taking me," Dean said to Jo, who had started to reach for her purse.

Luke had left for the office almost immediately after Dean emerged from his room, and the early afternoon had passed lazily, Michael and Tommy returning not long after Dean had eaten. Dean had spent most of his time on the couch, Tommy glued to his side, watching a movie until Jo had announced it was time to go to the doctor.

Sam, who had spent the hours within easy reach of his brother, had heaved himself off the sofa, muttering something about "coats" as he'd wandered out of the room.

Dean had watched him go, heart starting to hammer erratically when his brother was out of sight. _Damn it_.

Jo had bustled around the room, sending the other off to do other things while they were gone, and all Dean had been able to think as he'd watched her was, _no_.

Jo paused at Dean's words.

"Oh," she faltered. "I…"

He didn't let her finish. "You don't need to go," Dean said, talking over her. "Sammy's going to be there." He felt a stab of guilt at the hurt look on her face.

Jo let her hand fall away from the purse. "Of course," she said. "I… Of course."

Sam came back into the room at that point oblivious to the awkwardness he'd interrupted.

"Dean, you ready?" He handed his brother a jacket, and looked over at Jo. "Aren't you coming?" Sam asked expectantly.

Dean dropped his eyes, focusing on the coat Sam had given him. When Dean struggled with it, Sam reached out absently to help, eyes curiously on Jo.

"Uh, no," Jo said softly. "I want to keep an eye on Jake, and I'm sure you and Luke can take care of it without me," she said. Luke was going to meet them at the hospital, planning on taking Dean's statement while they were all in town.

Sam looked surprised, but he didn't argue. "Yeah, sure," he said. He looked at his brother. "Let's go."

Dean turned and gave Jo a brief, guilt-ridden look. "Bye," he said softly, raising a hand at her.

She smiled back at him uncertainly. "See you in a little while, sugar."

Dean hurried to catch up with Sam, feeling a pull of unhappiness at Jo's dismay.

But Dean knew that if Jo came with them to the hospital, she would, because of who she was, take over any examination, standing close, touching him, asking questions.

And Dean knew that if she did that, Sam would probably let her take the lead, would stand to the side, not be there, _right there_ , like Dean wanted _needed_ him to be. The thought of it made him feel nauseous.

Ever since he'd woken up, Dean had been fighting a low-grade anxiety that spiked uncomfortably whenever Sam wasn't close by. The idea of facing the doctor without Sam in reaching distance, even with Jo there, was enough to set his heart beating painfully in his chest. And he couldn't… He couldn't….

"You OK, Dean?" Sam stood next to the door of the Impala, swinging it open so Dean could get in easily. He was watching Dean with concern starting to shadow his features.

Dean blinked away the anticipatory panic and nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."

* * *

"Dean, come on in here and if you'll get up on that, I'm going to talk to Sam for just a minute." Dr. Jones ushered Dean into a small examining room. He pointed to the counter-like bench in the middle of the room. "We'll be right back."

"That OK?" Sam asked, and Dean bit back a "no" (because it really wasn't), managing instead a fairly convincing, "Yeah."

They weren't gone for long, but when they returned, Sam was wearing the pinched, worried look he'd been sporting off and on since Dean woke up.

The exam itself was pretty straight-forward. There'd been x-rays and poking and prodding and questions and thoughtful looks that had culminated in the doctor giving Sam prescriptions for antibiotics and some pain killers for Dean. Dean had a mild concussion, abrasions, and some deep bruising of his ribs, but other than that he was fine.

When the doctor sent Sam out of the room, Dean realized suddenly why Sam had looked so unsettled initially. And while Dean had figured this particular line of questioning would be coming, he'd dreaded it all the same.

"He didn't, doc, I swear." Dean was sitting on the examining table, the crinkle of paper over vinyl making him shift. His legs were dangling, hands gripping the edge of the thin mattress convulsively.

The doctor continued to watch Dean steadily. "Son, if he did, there's no shame. You didn't do anything wrong. But I need to know so we can get you tested, treat you…"

"He didn't!"

Dean hated the way his voice cracked when he insisted, made it sound like he was hiding something that he wasn't. He cleared his throat, tried to make himself calm down, to convince the doctor that he wasn't hurt that way.

"I… I kicked him in the nuts with my boot. He tripped and he … fell on the heel pretty hard." Dean fought off the remembrance of being crushed, the man's body on his, weighing him down…

Dean took a deliberate, if unsteady, breath, looked the doctor in the eyes. "I caught him right in the crotch, he was unconscious for a little while, and he never… he said he would, but he never… he never came back."

Dean was aware he was shaking, but he kept his eyes on the doctor's.

Dr. Jones nodded, and Dean thought for a minute that would be the end of it.

"OK," the doctor said. He paused. "But I still need to do a thorough exam, Dean," he added gently.

When Sam came back in, Dean could still feel the flush of mortification on his cheeks, and he ducked his head, nodding jerkily at Sam's quiet, "OK?"

There was a fleeting brush of Sam's hand down his back, and Dean struggled against the need to lean into his brother's solid comfort standing so near when that touch was removed. But then the hand came back and stayed, and Dean steadied under its warmth.

Dean looked up and saw that Luke was there, too, having a muted conversation with the doctor. The sheriff nodded as the doctor spoke, eyes flicking to Dean quickly, face easing into an expression that was more "Luke" than Dean realized he'd seen in awhile. Luke smiled at him briefly, relief in his eyes before he turned his attention back to Dr. Jones.

There was a knock at the door, and a woman entered, clipboard in hand, nametag on her blouse, "social worker" under her name. Sam stiffened next to Dean, hand coming away as Dean straightened, too. Sam shifted so that he was between the woman and his brother.

"Boys, this is Susan Wheeler, she's the social worker here at the hospital." Luke's brow crinkled at the change in the Winchesters' postures, and he said in a tone that was clearly meant to be soothing, "It's routine that Ms. Wheeler talk to children who've been hurt in any way, Dean." His eyes went to Sam. "OK, Sam? She's just going to talk to Dean for a minute, and then we'll be all done."

Sam turned to his brother, keeping himself almost belligerently between Dean and the social worker. "That OK?" he asked, eyes telling Dean that he wouldn't leave if Dean didn't want him to.

As Luke watched the Winchesters, he realized with a start that this was probably not an unfamiliar situation for these boys – one of them hurt, in the hospital, the state asking questions. Dean's face had gone carefully blank, but Luke could see the anxiety in his eyes as he looked up at Sam. Sam, for his part, was rigid with a barely suppressed panic, the possibility of losing Dean too fresh in his mind for him to deal with this new threat well at all.

Dean's eyes flickered to Luke, and Luke took a step forward. He put what he hoped would be a calming hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam flinched at the touch, but he still turned to look at Luke, uncertainty all over his face. "Come on," Luke said gently. "We'll let them chat, and then we can get y'all home."

Sam bit his lip, eyes going back to Dean. "That OK?" he asked again.

Dean's eyes were on the woman across the room. "Yeah," he whispered. "It's OK, Sammy." He looked at Luke now, wanting reassurance, and Luke nodded, reaching out to pat him on the arm.

Luke smiled at the boy. "Yeah, it'll be fine."

Out in the hall, Sam paced nervously, eyes on the door his brother was behind, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

"Sammy, you want me to go in with him?" Luke thought he might be considered an unbiased observer by the social worker. She was new to the area, and it seemed unlikely she would be aware of the connection between Luke and the Winchesters.

"Is that…?" Sam looked from the door to Luke and back again. "Can you do that?"

Luke nodded. "Let me see," he said reassuringly. He gave Sam a wink. "Don't pace a groove in the floor out here, OK?"

Sam huffed out a hollow laugh. "I'll try."

Luke eased into the room, giving the woman a self-assured nod of his head as he leaned against the wall next to the door. She looked uncertain, but turned back to Dean without much of a break in her questioning.

Dean's eyes flicked to him, but went immediately back to the social worker, watching her warily.

"And your cousin, Sam, is he your legal guardian?" she asked.

"No, he's my… He's taking care of me. My mom and dad… they can't right now." Dean swallowed, eyes darting to Luke, then back to the social worker. "He's… I don't guess it's anything, like, official," he finally stammered.

Luke couldn't figure out if Dean's hesitations were an act or not. He'd seen Dean lie with the best of them, but this seemed disconcertingly genuine, the uncertainties and fumblings of an overwhelmed, hurting boy. Dean opened his mouth as if he might say more, but then shut it, waiting for a question. He looked at Luke again.

"OK," the woman soothed him kindly. "Has something like this happened before? Where you've been hurt while Sam was responsible for you? Where he's lost…?"

Dean shook his head emphatically. "Sam didn't lose me," he interrupted. "That man… that man…." He couldn't seem to make himself finish the sentence. "He… Sam didn't lose me. It wasn't his fault. I was riding my bike and that guy… It wasn't Sam's fault. I…"

Dean's inability to put together a coherent defense of his brother spoke loudly to Luke of Dean's state of mind. The kid was scared in a way Luke wouldn't have thought possible given the cocky young man Dean usually was. Luke frowned, shifting forward slightly.

Ms. Wheeler wrote something on her sheet. "OK," she said again. She hesitated, then asked, "Has Sam ever hurt you, Dean?" She looked at Luke, seemingly for his support. "You have a lot of scars, and there are breaks…"

"Sam's never hurt me. Never. He…" The tightness in Dean's voice got Luke moving across the room, and Dean turned to him almost desperately. "Luke…"

Ms. Wheeler's eyes widened in surprise when Dean spoke to the sheriff so familiarly, then narrowed, realizing that Luke was not an uninterested observer.

"There's a reason Dean's not with his folks, Ms Wheeler," Luke said quietly, not looking at Dean. "Things had gotten … bad at their house, and Sam and his brother stepped in. Sam brought Dean here, and his brother – actually also 'Dean' – has been trying to do what he can to get the boy's parents back on track."

Luke's eyes went to Dean. The child was pale and unsteady, watching both adults closely.

The social worker was frowning thoughtfully. "Have his parents even been notified that he was kidnapped? Do they know that he's been hurt?"

"No," Luke said steadily. "His parents aren't in any shape to deal with this."

"They wouldn't have come," Dean said softly, and Luke slanted him a glance.

Ms. Wheeler's attention shifted back to Dean. Luke could see the impact of Dean's words on her by the look on her face.

"Sam takes care of me," Dean said, voice shaking noticeably for the first time. "Please…" His eyes when they met the social worker's were bright with unshed tears.

Reacting without thought to Dean's distress, Luke reached out to rub a hand up and down the boy's back. "They're staying with us out at the motel," he said. "Sam and his brother are good friends of our family. They knew that they're always welcome."

The woman bit her lip, thinking. "Let me talk to Sam."

Luke nodded and moved his hand up to press his palm briefly to the base of Dean's neck. "He's out here." He cocked an eyebrow at Dean. "We'll be right back."

Dean's face lightened in relief when he realized that Luke was going to be part of that interview, too.

Ms. Wheeler's clouded at the same realization, but Luke just smiled blandly, not asking permission. She preceded him out the door.

"Is everything OK?"

Sam almost catapulted himself off the wall he'd been leaning against. He looked at Luke. "Can we take him home?"

Ms. Wheeler inserted herself firmly into the conversation. "I've finished talking to Dean, Sam, but I'd like to talk to you for a minute, if I may."

Sam blinked, face taking on the same wary expression Dean's had worn earlier. "Sure," he agreed.

It took almost two more hours to convince Ms. Wheeler to let Dean go home with Sam and Luke. When they finally got away, all three of them climbed into the Impala and just sat – not speaking – for a long minute.

It was Dean who broke the silence, voice gray with exhaustion and a certain dark humor. "We have _got_ to get me back to normal."


	8. Chapter 8

After the encounter with the social worker, Luke decided that trying to get a coherent statement from Dean that day would be too much for the kid. Never mind himself and Sam. They were all on the edge of emotional collapse, and frankly Luke suspected that if he had to hear Dean's story, _Luke_ would burst into tears.

Luke had walked the short distance from the police station to the hospital. He'd been hoping the walk would help him clear his head after an afternoon spent dealing with the fallout from Dean's abduction and rescue. And while he wasn't looking forward to it, Luke knew he needed to see what progress had been made in the investigation while he'd been gone, so he had the boys drop him at the police station and sent them home.

With a sigh, Luke waved after the Impala before he turned toward the station.

 _God damn it_ , Luke thought wearily as he dragged himself up the steps of the building.

"How's Dean?"

Matt Rodriguez squinted at Luke from across the room as he entered. Matt's eyes looked bloodshot even at a distance, strained from hours of staring at the computer screen while he filled out forms.

Luke hung his hat on the rack by the door. "Doc says he checks out fine. Gonna be sore for awhile, but other than that..."

Matt looked relieved. "That's good news, at least."

Luke snorted. "Yeah." He dropped into the chair at his desk. "Where are we on the rest of this crap?"

"We need Dean's statement. And Sam's. Plus the autopsy."

Luke rubbed at his eyes. "I'll bring the boys in tomorrow. Today... It's just too much for..." He trailed off, attention straying to his own idle computer monitor, pictures of the kids and Macy sliding across it, fading in and out. His own report wasn't close to being done.

Matt shrugged sympathetically. "It'll keep another day. Poor kid's been through enough."

Luke spent about an hour responding to emails and returning phone calls. He didn't want to think that he was avoiding finishing his statement, but after he got back to his desk from a sixth wander around the office to get coffee, refill the paper in the printer, go to the bathroom and other trivial tasks, he had to admit it to himself.

_Crap._

He rolled the mouse around on its pad irritably to make the screensaver disappear. Luke drummed his fingers absently on the keyboard. Backspaced over the random letters that had appeared on the screen.

Where had he been?

The truth was that the assault on the house had been a disaster, and they'd been lucky that no one – other than the kidnapper and especially not Dean – had been killed. There'd been too many people involved and someone had miscalculated or misunderstood, stepping into sight early, revealing their hand.

The resulting chaos—shots fired, shouts—had given Sam the opportunity that young man had been watching for, and Luke had only been able to stare—startled into stillness—as Sam, gun in hand, had sprinted for the house.

After it had registered with Luke what he'd actually seen—Sam out of the car, running—he'd been hard on Sam's heels, abandoning his own role in the plan without hesitation. Luke himself had been relegated to a supporting player because of his relationship with the victim, and had been leaning tensely against the truck, waiting for the all clear.

He still wasn't sure what in the world had made him think that Sam would wait docilely in the car until everything was over. Denial? Arrogance? Had he realized subconsciously that Sam would never obey such an order? His own willingness to follow Sam's desperate dash into the fray made Luke suspect the latter.

When they'd reached the sparse cover of brush that provided a modicum of protection from view, Sam and Luke had been the only ones not pinned down by returned fire. They'd had a clear shot of the back door. Where the officers assigned to covering the rear of the structure had been was a question that was being asked repeatedly and heatedly in the aftermath.

Luke and Sam had exchanged quick glances, and Luke had given a tight nod. There would be no going back. For either of them. Crouched low, they'd run for the back steps, Luke expecting any moment to hear the report of a gun fired, but there had been nothing. When they'd gotten to the door, Luke had reached for the handle with his left hand, gun still ready in his right. Sam had been pressed to the side of the entrance, his own gun pointed at the ground, eyes on Luke's.

"Easy," Luke had mouthed, and Sam's chin had jerked down once in acknowledgement before Luke had continued, "On three." Another terse nod.

When Luke had swung the door open, there'd been no pause in the gunfire at the front of the house. He and Sam had crept in, eyes scanning for signs of Dean. The younger man had started to surge past Luke, but a hand out, palm flat against Sam's chest had checked the kid. Sam had made a soft noise that communicated his protest, but he'd stilled, attention back on Luke.

"Him first," Luke had whispered, "then Dean."

Sam's brows had drawn down in an expression that bordered on defiance, but he'd nodded. Luke had understood the restlessness, Sam's need to find his brother, but they'd needed to deal with the threat first.

Both men had moved quietly toward the sounds of the fight and had found it in a front room, an enormous man crouched on the floor next to a shattered window. He had been peering through the broken panes, attention on the threat in front of him, not concerned, apparently, about an attack from the rear.

Luke had pulled back from the corner he'd looked around, and turned to Sam, who had flattened himself against the wall next to Luke, though he'd still been inching forward, wanting to move. Luke had held up a hand. _Wait_. Then a single finger. _Just one_. Sam's jaw had clenched, and he'd nodded.

Closing his eyes, and drawing in a steadying breath, Luke had stepped into view.

"Stop," he'd commanded, gun pointing unwaveringly at the man kneeling on the floor. He'd felt Sam's presence beside him, caught sight of the barrel of Sam's gun almost parallel to his own. "You're..."

The man had begun to rise in one awkward step, rifle swinging around at the same time and Luke had fired. Two quick shots to the center of the man's chest. He'd dropped like a stone.

"Luke," Sam's voice, breathless, had sounded tinny in Luke's ears even as he'd moved forward, gun still trained on the motionless form on the floor. Luke had sensed Sam keeping pace with him and had prodded the body gingerly with his boot. Both men had snapped back when the man had shifted, made a low gurgling noise. They'd kept their guns pointed, waiting, but the guy hadn't moved again. Only moaned.

"You got him?" Luke had asked finally, not looking at Sam. "I'm going to call it in."

"Yeah," Sam had said.

He'd been quick on the phone, releasing Sam when he'd finished with just a glance as he'd taken point again, and a flood law enforcement agents had swept into the house, a paramedic shoving aside Luke's gun as she knelt to roll the wounded (dying) man onto his back. Sam had already started calling Dean's name, moving toward the back of the house.

Luke had taken a couple of staggering steps away, reaction setting in, hands beginning to shake as he'd holstered his weapon.

"Dean!" Sam's booming, desperate voice had reverberated in Luke's chest, and he'd turned toward the sound.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean's voice had been faint, but clear, and Luke had had to bend over, hands on his knees, gulping air into his lungs, relief compounding reaction, driving the breath out of his body as he fought against a deluge of overwhelming emotions.

Luke could feel the residual power of that moment even sitting at his desk now, struggling with the words he needed to get it written down. He shut his eyes, rubbing a hand unthinkingly across his chest, heart tightening and lungs seeming to close in remembrance.

"Luke?" Matt was watching him with concern when Luke opened his eyes again.

"Yeah?" he asked roughly, clearing his throat self-consciously.

"Have you talked to Jo?"

Luke wiped a hand over his eyes and sighed. "No," he admitted softly. "Haven't had the chance." It had been too easy to focus on Dean, to push everything else to the side. Not acknowledge it. He realized he wasn't going to be able to do that much longer.

Matt nodded. "Are you OK?" he asked hesitantly, worry plain on his face.

A strange huff of a laugh escaped before Luke could control it, and he said unsteadily, "Truthfully? I don't know."

"Go home, Luke," Matt said, gently. "You don't need to do this now. You gave a statement at the scene, and no one's questioning the legitimacy of the shooting. The full report can wait."

Luke stared at his computer. He hadn't added a single sentence. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

"Talk to your wife," Matt said.

Luke rolled his eyes, trying for normal in this interaction with his deputy. "Says the single man."

"Hey. If I had one, I'd talk to her," Matt said with a ghost of a grin. "I may come talk to yours anyway."

It was an admission of sorts, and Luke recognized it as such. Officer involved shootings were not usual for their quiet town. "You're always welcome to. You know that," he said steadily.

Matt blushed, ducking his head. "Thanks."

Luke heaved himself out of his chair. "Well. I think I'm going to go home," he said with false heartiness, slapping both hands on his knees as he rose.

"What a great idea," Matt said with mocking enthusiasm. "I think you should do that."

They exchanged a look as Luke headed for the door.

"Thanks, kid," Luke said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sounds good."

* * *

Sam looked in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the police station. Luke raised a hand to them, and then began to climb the stairs slowly. God, he looked beat down. Sam's eyes shifted to Dean in the back seat, leaning against the door.

"You want to get up here?" Sam asked. He'd actually expected Dean to make the switch when they'd stopped, but his brother had stayed in the back. Dean hadn't said a word since they'd driven out of the hospital parking lot.

Dean blinked, pulling himself out of whatever thoughts had been occupying him. "Sure."

Sam looked for a place to pull over, but Dean was already scrambling over the seat.

"Dean, don't..."

With a pained grunt, Dean landed in the passenger seat. He grimaced, wrapping his arms tightly across his chest for a second.

Sam gritted his teeth. "Dude, I would have stopped. You can't..." Sam forced himself not to say anymore. It was a fine line to walk between concern and hovering, he knew, even with this smaller version of his brother. Maybe an even finer line as they both tried to negotiate this unanticipated change in their positions.

Dean just shrugged, ignoring his brother as he got settled. "I'm good."

Shaking his head, Sam turned his attention back to the road.

After a couple of quiet miles, Dean asked softly, "How did you find me?"

Sam had known he'd have to deal with the specifics eventually, but the question still startled him, and he shifted sharply, eyes slanting to Dean. His brother was slouched against the passenger door, head against the window. He hadn't looked at Sam when he'd asked the question, and the face that finally turned toward Sam was shuttered, but curious.

Sam shrugged. "Mostly, luck, really. Luke had divided the area into search grids. One of the teams found the house, called back to the diner."

Dean grunted thoughtfully. "I wondered if it might be the place where that Gene guy kept you and Tommy..." he said kind of absently.

Sam couldn't help the small smile. "That was the first place I checked. Just in case."

Dean's lips curled up in an answering grin. He was quiet again for awhile.

"How..." Dean stopped. "How did he die?" he asked. He wasn't looking at Sam again.

Sam swallowed, cleared his throat.

"Luke shot him."

Dean paled, face going stark white.

After a second, Sam continued. "We, Luke and I, had come in through the back. When we confronted the guy, he turned around with a gun and Luke... Luke was faster than I was." Sam's voice was tight. Weird regret and relief that he wasn't the one who had killed the man.

Dean's head moved fractionally in a nod. "OK," he whispered.

More silence.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly.

Dean shook himself, blinking. He looked over at Sam. "Why?"

"I'm not sure exactly," Sam admitted. "That it wasn't me? That I wasn't the one to..."

"Don't," Dean said with surprising sharpness. "Don't do that."

Sam's mouth snapped shut before he asked, "What?"

"Don't make this...," Dean stopped. "I should have..." His voice was clipped, and amazingly Sam saw tears standing in Dean's eyes, the muscle in the boy's jaw jumping with tension.

Sam took a careful breath. _Dear God._

"You should have what, Dean?" he asked.

Dean just shook his head, staring determinedly out the front windshield.

Sam watched his brother.

"If you tell me you think you should have been able to save yourself, I'm going to kick your ass," Sam said, eyes going back to the road.

Dean's mouth fell open slightly, and he turned to his brother.

Sam was suddenly angry. Angry at himself. Angry at Dean.

"You're a kid, Dean. A _kid,_ " Sam said fiercely. "A well-trained kid, I'll give you. And you've got your adult awareness or whatever. But."

"I should have been able..." Dean started.

"Stop it!" Sam almost shouted, cutting Dean off abruptly. "You're a _child_. _That's_ reality right now. That guy was bigger than _me_ , and we both know that if I wanted to, I could put you down in, like, two seconds," he finished brutally.

Dean was holding himself completely stiff, mouth set in a thin line – stubbornness or denial or something else, Sam couldn't tell.

"So, I'm sorry," Sam said tersely. "Sorry that I didn't protect you. Sorry that I wasn't the one who took care of that bastard. Sorry that Luke's the one who's going to have to live with having killed someone. And I'm sorry that that's going to eat at you."

It was certainly going to eat at Sam.

"But it wasn't your fault, Dean, and I'm not going to let you blame yourself because you weren't able to take care of this on your own. I'm the one who screwed up. I am. Not you."

There was a moment of tense silence in the wake of Sam's rant.

"Sammy..." Dean started and Sam could hear the hesitancy in his young voice.

"Don't." Sam bit the word out more sharply than he'd intended. But he didn't want Dean to try to comfort him or make it better. Didn't want Dean to try to take back the big brother role when Sam wanted to shoulder that responsibility himself right now. He glanced sharply at Dean. "Just. Don't, OK?" he said more softly.

Dean subsided in the seat next to Sam, expression uncertain as he watched his brother.

They didn't speak the rest of the way home.


	9. Chapter 9

When the Winchesters got back to the Sweeds', Sam pulled up to the house, easing the Impala into park. They both sat in the car.

"I'm going to get the laptop and go use the wireless," Sam said.

Dean nodded his understanding, ignoring the twitch of anxiety in his gut.

"You want to come with me?" Sam asked. _Are you OK with that?_ unspoken.

Dean shrugged, looking toward the house. "Nah," he said. "I'm gonna go in."

"OK." Sam didn't move for a second. Then reached for the handle, pushing the heavy door open. He got out of the car and walked around the hood, catching up with Dean as the boy climbed the stairs.

They parted ways at the door to the kitchen, Sam heading for their bedroom, Dean hesitating at the sound of water running and Jo singing softly to the radio as she worked on supper. He shuffled into the kitchen to find her standing at the sink peeling potatoes.

"Hey," he said.

Jo turned. "Hey, sugar."

Dean moved a couple of steps further into the room.

Jo watched him. "Where's Sam?" she asked.

"He's getting the computer, then he's gonna…"

"Sam?" She spoke over him, eyes shifting over Dean's shoulder. Sam came up behind Dean in response to her voice. He had the laptop bag slung over his shoulder.

Pleased to have caught his attention, Jo went on. "Honey, supper's going to be late. The boys were eating cereal late, and I just couldn't get myself started. Are you going to starve if you have to wait a little while?" She included Dean in her question with a glance.

Dean half-way shrugged, and Sam said easily, "I'll probably grab something at the diner to tide me over. Don't worry," he smiled at her. He looked down at Dean, "You going to be OK?" he asked again, laying a hand on Dean's back.

Dean moved out from under Sam's touch. "I'm fine," he said, not looking. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it.

There was a moment of silence before Sam said, "OK."

"I'll call you when we're ready to eat, Sam," Jo said.

"Thanks."

When Sam was gone, Dean couldn't help the glance over his shoulder at the spot where his brother had been.

Jo had turned back to the task at hand.

"Where's Luke?" she asked absently. The casualness of the question made Dean realize she didn't know what had happened. Didn't know what Luke had done. He swallowed heavily.

"He went back to the station. Said he had some stuff to finish up."

Jo nodded. "How was giving your statement?"

She hadn't asked about the doctor, and Dean wondered if she was mad. He bit his lip before he answered. "I didn't give my statement," he admitted. "Tomorrow."

She turned from the sink, potato in one hand, paring knife in the other. She frowned at him. "You've been gone for hours," she said, confused and now worried. "What…? Are you…?"

"I'm fine. We just…" Dean slumped further into his chair. "My x-rays are always, you know, questionable, I guess, and the social worker…" He trailed off.

Jo just gaped at him. " _What?"_ When she finally spoke there was no mistaking the fury in her voice. "I'm sorry, but _what?_ "

She was practically brandishing the knife in her hand so broad was her gesturing.

Dean felt himself flinch slightly in surprise. "She… She thought maybe Sam…"

Jo's face flushed bright red, and she slammed the knife she'd been holding down on the counter top. " _Who_?" she demanded, storming to the phone and yanking the receiver off its base.

Dean blinked. _Holy crap._ "Jo…"

"I want to know who had the _nerve_ in light of what had _just_ happened to you to _dare_ to suggest that Sam… that _Sam_ …" she sputtered to a halt, anger radiating off every line of her body. She stood with the phone clenched in her hand, glaring her anger at Dean.

He knew her well-enough not to take her evil-eye personally, and he eased out of his chair. "Jo, it's OK…" he started soothingly.

"No," she said tightly. "It's not. It's not OK that…" Her voice had started to shake slightly. "I can't believe…" She looked down at the phone, over at him again. "Who was it, Dean?"

He took a careful step toward her. "We're fine, Jo, we are." He didn't figure anything good could come of her talking to someone about this right now. Maybe not ever, he thought ruefully. He quirked a cautious grin at her. "You think me and Sam can't work one small-town, newbie social worker?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

Jo's fingers were slowly relaxing their grip on the phone. The grim look on her face began to ease somewhat. "Yeah?" she asked, kind of peering at him.

"Yeah," he said scoffed. He put all the self-assurance he could into that one word. They were close enough to touch, but Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, going for "casual."

Jo continued to watch him carefully. "Honey, I'm so sorry." He shrugged, and she put a hand up to his cheek. "I know you can handle it. That doesn't mean it's fun to go through, though."

Without even thinking about it, Dean took the last step toward her and sighed as her arms came around him. He didn't take his hands out of pockets, just leaned into her. "Luke was there," he admitted. He rested his cheek against her shoulder, relaxing under the stroke of her fingers through his hair.

He sighed. "Jo?"

"What, darlin'?"

"I'm sorry. About earlier."

There was a pause in the motion of her hand against his head before it resumed. "That's OK," she said.

"It wasn't you. I just… I needed Sam," he whispered.

"Oh, sugar." She didn't say anything else for a while. Then, "Honey, I know I can get a little… mother-hennish sometimes."

Dean snorted softly, and she pinched him lightly on the nape of the neck. "Hey," he protested half-heartedly.

"But," she ignored him, "I really do try to back off when I realize what I'm doing, OK? So, just tell me, alright, sweetie? Don't… Don't shut me out like you did."

Dean turned his head slightly, hiding his face in her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

She slid her fingers over the short hair on the back of his head and gave him a gentle shake. "I know you are, honey, and I'm sorry, too. But I'm not a mind-reader, Dean, and…"

Dean's muffled snort stopped her. He pulled back from her a little bit. "Jake says you are," he teased.

"Pffft," she raspberried dismissively. "Jake. Every thought that goes through that boy's head passes clear across his face. _Tommy_ can read him like a book."

Dean laughed as he took another step away, felt the tension finish draining out of him when she grinned in response.

"Help me with dinner?" she asked.

"Sure."

* * *

They'd just started to eat when they heard the front door open and close. Everyone paused, waiting for Luke to join them. Confused glances went around the table when he didn't, and the sound of boots on the hard wood floors upstairs could be heard.

"I'll be back," Jo said, pushing her chair back. "Y'all keep eating."

They did and finished up without Jo or Luke returning.

"Can I be excused?" Tommy asked, eyes going from Michael to Sam and back again.

"Sure," Michael said. He shrugged at some thought he didn't share. "Take your plate over, brat," he added when Tommy started for the door.

Heaving a sigh, Tommy stomped back to the table. He picked up his own plate and Sam's.

"Get Jake's," Michael instructed and the younger boy scowled suddenly. He took the two plates in his hands to the counter and on return to the table paused before he actually picked up Jake's plate.

"Why doesn't he have to…?" he started.

"Because he's on _crutches_ , Tommy," Michael said impatiently. "He can't carry dishes, right now."

Jake looked surprised and then smug at having been excused from clean-up duty by Michael.

"Have you taken your medication, Jake?" Michael asked, already reaching for the prescription bottle in the center of the table. Jake hadn't complained, but he was a little drawn, and he held out his hand for the capsules Michael shook into his palm. "You need help to the couch?"

Jake got to his feet somewhat unsteadily, but got his balance with just Sam's hand to his elbow. "No, I got it," he said.

Tommy watched all this seriously, but couldn't seem to help the whine. "Do I have to the dishes all by myself?"

"I'll help, kiddo," Dean said easily, scooting back his chair a little gingerly.

"I will, too," added Sam. Then, "Dean, have you taken your meds?" It earned Sam a frown, but a grudging shake of Dean's head, as well. "They're next to the bed," Sam said, unfazed.

On an eye-roll, Dean did his own stomping as he left the kitchen.

Michael had already stood and made to follow Dean out of the room, unable to stop himself from checking on his own younger brother. "I'll be right back," he said with an amused grimace at Sam, who shook his head.

Sam had just set Tommy to wiping down the table when Jo and Luke came back in. They were both pale, and Sam felt his stomach clench painfully when he realized that their eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

"Hey." Michael's voice faltered when he also registered the expressions on his parents' faces. "Are… are you hungry?" he asked uncertainly.

"I could eat something," Luke said.

"I'll get it," Jo said with a brief smile at Michael, and a hand brushing his arm. "Thank you, sweetie."

Michael nodded, brow creased as he watched Luke.

"I'm finished," Tommy announced, taking aim at the sink with the rag he'd been using. "Can I be done?" He drew back and released the cloth, grinning when it landed gracefully over the faucet. _Yes!_ he mouthed.

"Sure, honey," Jo said, and Tommy ran for the door. "Where's Jakey?" she asked.

"Watching TV," Michael told her. "He was hurting and…"

"That's fine," she assured him.

Luke wandered out into the family room, and they could hear the murmur of his voice and Jake's and Tommy's over the sound of an explosion from whatever movie the boys were watching.

There was momentary silence in the kitchen as Jo reached into the fridge for leftovers.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked, eyes on Jo's back where she stood at the counter.

Sam and Dean were putting the last of the dishes in dishwasher. Sam could see that Dean was holding himself stiffly, his hand shaking slightly as he put a glass in the rack.

Jo turned to answer Michael, but flicked quick, anxious eyes toward Dean before sliding them over Sam. And Sam realized she didn't know that Dean knew that Luke had killed the man.

"Not… not right now OK, sweetheart?" Jo said softly.

Michael's gaze had followed Jo's to Dean, and though the confusion was plain on his face, he didn't press. "OK," he said.

Dean straightened as he closed the dishwasher, shoulders hunched, not turning around or seeming to know what to do. Sam didn't know either. But when Dean turned to Sam, face tight, looking for guidance, Sam said easily, "We done?" At Dean's nod, Sam continued, "You want to go watch TV?"

Dean nodded again and fled.

Sam's eyes met Jo's, and he said quietly, "Dean knows."

Jo took a shaky breath. "OK."

Michael didn't say anything, just watched the exchange.

"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered, at a loss for what was appropriate in this situation.

"Oh, honey," was all Jo seemed capable of. She stopped fussing with the food on Luke's plate and rested her hands on the counter. The eyes she finally lifted to Sam were wet, but she smiled at him. "He'll be OK. He will. It's just… overwhelming." She turned to Michael, trying to address the growing concern and fear on his face. "Baby, we'll tell you, OK? We will. You and Tommy and Jake. But, can you…"

"It's OK, Mom. I'll wait. It's just… is Luke sick? Is he…?"

"He's not sick, Michael. It's nothing like that, OK? He's not hurt or sick. Something happened and…" She bit her lip, then said softly, carefully, "Luke's the one who killed the man who took Dean."

Michael blinked. "Oh," he breathed.

"It was self-defense, but…" Jo cleared her throat. "But it's…"

Michael was nodding. "Yeah," he agreed gruffly, clearing his own throat. He looked at Sam. "And Dean knows," he said, understanding.

"Yeah." Sam waited then added, "I was with Luke when it happened, and he probably saved my life, too." Sam felt the muscles of his shoulders tighten in frustration and memory. "He was just faster pulling the trigger than I was," Sam said, meeting Michael's eyes. The kid swallowed and nodded.

"We need to talk to all of you about it," Jo said into the silence. "People are going to know, and we want you boys to be prepared, in case anyone says anything to you, but Luke's just so raw right now. I wanted to wait until he's steadier…" her voice faltered.

With a quick look at Sam, Michael got up and crossed to his aunt, putting his arms around her. "Mama," he whispered. "It'll be OK. He'll be OK."

Sam stood for a second, awkward and an intruder, before he slipped out of the room.

In the den it was just Luke and Jake and Tommy watching the movie. Sam gave them all a small smile. "Dean?" he asked.

"Said he was tired," Jake answered without taking his eyes off the television.

Sam nodded and his eyes met Luke's briefly. Luke shrugged at him, and with a shrug of his own, Sam made his way back to the bedroom.

Dean was lying on his bed. He didn't acknowledge Sam's presence when he entered, just kept his eyes on the book in his hands.

"Not interested in the movie?" Sam asked casually. He picked up the laptop from where he'd stowed it when he'd come in for dinner. He fiddled with it, trying to get a read on Dean's mood. Was this a "leave me alone but don't go away" kind of deal? Or the more standard, "get the hell away from me" vibe?

"Hu-uh," Dean mumbled. But his eyes met Sam's – just a flick of green.

Sam took that as an invitation to stay. He sat down on his bed. "Yeah, me either."

Dean was chewing on his lip, attention seemingly on the book, although Sam knew it wasn't really. Sam untangled the computer from its case and got comfortable on the bed, stretching out his legs and perching the machine on his lap. He figured he could read through some of the things he'd downloaded that afternoon.

"Luke told Jo?" The question was quiet.

Sam turned toward Dean. "Yeah," he said, watching his brother for a moment. But when Dean didn't return his gaze, Sam let it go. Trying to stare Dean into talking rarely worked.

If there was anything Sam had learned since Dad had died, it was that badgering his older brother to share never got the results Sam was looking for. It had been a painful lesson for both of them. But what he'd also learned was that once Dean was ready to talk, he would. If Sam could just make himself be quiet and let Dean do things in his own time.

This 14-year-old Dean didn't seem to have the same defenses his adult-self had, though. And Sam wondered if a little push here would work better than it might otherwise.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked, ventured carefully.

Sam had realized as he'd mulled things over in the diner, that the conversation in the car would not be the end of dealing with Dean over Luke's involvement in the shooting. Sam could try to lay claim to that guilt all he wanted. The reality was that Dean's stubborn sense of responsibility for everyone he cared about would never let him relinquish that claim without a fight.

Dean's face crumpled, and he hunched in on himself, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. Eyes squinched closed as he took a couple of deep, shaking breaths. He was trying so hard not to fall apart.

"Hey, man, hey," Sam felt a sudden _holycrapholycrap, Dean, please don't start crying_ kind of panic start to take over. He couldn't decide if a hand on Dean's shoulder would help or just complete the breakdown. "It's OK, Dean. It's going to be OK."

Throwing caution to the wind, Sam shifted the laptop to the side and moved to sit next to his brother. He put a cautious arm around Dean's shoulders. "Man, it sucks, but it's going to be OK. Luke's going to be fine. He's fine."

Dean didn't move – didn't ease closer, didn't pull away – and Sam could feel the tightness in the boy's shoulders like a rock against his arm. "It's going to be OK," he repeated helplessly.

Dean brought his knees up and pressed his face into them. Sam didn't offer any more attempts at words to comfort, but kept his arm where it was, waiting on his brother.

"I hate this," Dean finally whispered, muffled. "I hate being helpless, that Luke…" he didn't finish.

"I know, man," Sam said. "I know. But…" Sam was unsure where to go from here. "But, you know … we were there to get you, but… in that moment, Luke fired to protect himself. To protect me."

As the words were coming out of his mouth, Sam realized that unconsciously he'd probably hit on the one thing that would ease Dean's feelings of guilt. That Luke was protecting Sam. If it was hard for Dean to accept that Luke had to kill to protect Dean – even tangentially – that same action to protect Sam would be perfectly acceptable. And it hurt Sam in a way he hadn't expected.

There was a slight shift in the shoulders under Sam's arm, and he went on softly, "You didn't create that situation, Dean. _Luke_ didn't. That monster is the only person responsible for anything that happened."

Dean sighed haltingly, and Sam felt his brother relax next to him. They sat together without speaking until Dean finally raised his head to look at Sam. His cheeks had pinkened where they'd rubbed against the denim of his jeans, his lashes dark with a dampness that didn't seem to have gotten any farther. He looked impossibly young, and Sam felt such a fierce jolt of protectiveness and love for his brother that he was momentarily left dizzy, reeling from the force of it.

"Did they… did they say anything?" Dean asked, blinking uncertain eyes at Sam.

Sam blinked in return, struggling to breathe around the emotion lodged in his chest. "What?" he stammered.

"Did…? Was Jo mad?"

"Mad?" Sam thought he'd finally rejoined the conversation, but it wasn't making sense. "Why would Jo be mad?"

"I don't know." Dean's eyes jumped away from Sam's. "That Luke…" He trailed off, and Sam thought Dean himself wasn't exactly sure why Jo would be mad. Was just worried that she was. Like he'd worried about Dad being mad.

"No. She's not mad, Dean," Sam reassured him. "She's sad," he admitted. "Sad for Luke. Sad for you. But she's not mad. I promise."

Dean nodded and there was some further easing of the tension in Dean's thin frame.

Sam wasn't sure how long he should sit here with his arm around Dean. He was trying to figure out if there was an optimal time to pull out. One where he'd stayed for the maximum comfort, but the minimum awkwardness. Because at some point, if he pushed it, he knew Dean was going to accuse him of being a girl. It was like a law or something.

"Did Luke say anything to you?" Dean asked, hesitant again. Sam shook his head, taking the moment to remove his arm from around his brother. But even as he did, Sam shifted slightly closer to Dean, keeping his presence there solidly.

"No, he didn't," Sam admitted.

Dean chewed on his lip. "OK," he said.

Sam waited for a minute before he asked carefully, "You alright, man?"

Not looking at Sam, apparently lost in thought, Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said.

* * *

Luke pushed off with his feet, setting the porch swing in motion. He wasn't sure where the rest of his family was, but he was content in the silence of the evening just to sit.

It had been another long day. One that entailed taking Dean's statement and finishing his own. Luke scrubbed a hand over the top of head and took a long pull of the beer in his hand. He'd be glad to get this whole situation behind him.

"Hey."

With a slow blink, Luke dragged himself out of his reverie and took in the boy standing awkwardly off to the side of the swing.

"Hey," Luke offered with a smile. "How's it going?"

"OK." Dean shuffled forward, waiting for the swing to make its slow arc toward him. He looked hesitantly at Luke and, seeming to take Luke's lingering smile as permission, dropped into the chair when it nudged his knees.

The chair jerked on his landing, but the motion soon evened into smoothness. They swung in silence.

"Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" Luke asked absently, watching the stars begin to make their appearances in the gathering dusk.

"I'm sorry you had to kill that guy," Dean said softly.

Luke felt his blood chill, and he hoped the stutter of his heart in his chest didn't show on his face. He forced himself to take a steadying breath before he turned toward Dean. "Me, too," he said honestly.

Dean bit his lip, eyes still on Luke almost nervously. "Are you OK?" Dean asked unsurely.

Luke had to clear his throat around the lump that had stuck there suddenly. He raised the arm that had been draped across the back of the swing so that he could scuff his palm across the back of Dean's head. "I am," he said. "I will be." Luke skimmed his hand down Dean's hair, resting it on Dean's neck where it curved into the boy's shoulder. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

Dean nodded slightly, but he still seemed worried.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that I didn't shoot him because of you, right? It wasn't because I was angry about what was happening – even though I was. I fired because he had a gun, and he would have shot me or Sam if I hadn't stopped him." Luke bent forward, trying to see Dean's face in the gray light. "You understand that, don't you? That it wasn't your fault I shot that guy."

"Yeah," Dean whispered, head bowed.

Luke squeezed the thin shoulder under his hand again. "You do," Luke pressed.

"I do." Dean's head came up and he looked at Luke. "I just feel…"

Luke breathed out an understanding breath. "Yeah," he agreed. "But don't." He gave Dean a gentle shake. "Got it?"

Finally, a rueful murmured laugh. "Yes, sir."

And Luke pulled Dean closer, kissing him briefly on the temple before he dropped his arm fully over the boy's shoulders, pushing the swing back into motion with his feet.


	10. Chapter 10

There was still almost a week before they'd be able to get Dean changed back to his adult self, and there was nothing to do in the meantime but wait.

Which should have totally sucked.

Dean considered himself a man of action. He never waited if he didn't have to. And when he did have to, he was usually restless, ready for a fight, for something to do. He knew there were times that patience was called for—researching for a hunt, stalking prey, watching out for Sam when Dad was gone.

Now, though, there was no real purpose behind the waiting. Sure, they had to wait for the potion to... whatever... but there was no task to do in the meantime. No victims to interview or Sam to entertain. No monster to kill when the waiting was done.

And Dean would have thought that the down-time would be killing him.

But really? It wasn't that bad.

Because the thing was, Dean had never been, well, _coddled_ before – at least not within any real memory. And though it had its drawbacks, and while he'd never admit it out loud to anyone, it was actually kind of nice once he'd realized what was happening.

And _everyone_ was doing it.

From Jo who kissed him and petted him and called him "baby" even more than usual, to the boys who brought him Cokes and sandwiches and watched whatever television or movie he wanted as long as it would make him laugh, to Marge who dipped extra ice cream onto his pie, to Jake's friends who set up a Wii system in the family room and played games until Jo ran them out, to Sam who...

To Sam who made sure he took his meds and sent him to bed and soothed nightmares and stayed close, watching and protecting and _there_. Sam who, without realizing it, had taken on Dad's mode of care-giving. Quiet and solid. For Sam, surprisingly unfussy. Not to be ignored.

And it was that constancy, that steadiness that soaked into Dean's soul, that drew him in and made him feel safe again.

"Why are you still awake?" Sam closed the door behind him.

Exhausted, Dean had gone to bed earlier than almost everyone else in the house. But he'd been unable to fall asleep, and he'd spent the last few hours staring at the ceiling. Now he angled himself up in his bed, ignoring the question and watching Sam sleepily as his brother gathered up his night clothes. Sam didn't say anything either, just gave Dean a look before he headed toward the bathroom.

When Sam left, Dean slumped back down and let out a heavy breath. He rolled over on his stomach, feeling himself settle knowing that Sam would be there again soon.

Dean wasn't afraid any more. Really hadn't been after the first couple of nights back. But there were times when he found himself oddly reminded of the feelings he'd had when he'd been this age the first time and Dad had been gone on a hunt. There had always been a constant thrum of anxiety when he'd been left to take care of Sam by himself. A steady ache in his gut that Dean associated with those times. And it had only eased when Dad had gotten home.

That had been the feeling he'd had in the aftermath of being kidnapped. But instead of Dad, the comfort had been Sam. And as much as Sam was like their father in some ways, the feeling of safety Sam gave Dean was different. It was a safety that felt solid in a way that Dad's never really had. Sam's felt... unconditional. Not in danger of being taken away because of failure or disappointment or forgetfulness.

Truthfully, though, Dean knew that wasn't fair to his father. Knew that Dad's protection – his love – hadn't _really_ been conditional in any way. But it was hard to deny that it had felt that way sometimes when he was a kid. That it had felt dependent on taking good enough care of Sam, on hitting the target, on being the person his father wanted—his father _needed_ —him to be.

Dean had tried so hard to bear those responsibilities well and without complaint. Hadn't minded, he hadn't thought, being the one who was there for his dad, there for Sam. But in retrospect those responsibilities seemed now like a heavier burden than might have been fair. Dad's own admission of that truth planting the seed that had grown uncomfortably in Dean's mind.

Dean was just this side of sleep when Sam returned. He didn't open his eyes as Sam moved around the room, but stayed vaguely aware of his brother's presence, letting himself float.

The bed dipped, and Dean slit an eye open to look at Sam, who had perched on the edge of the mattress. A heavy hand came to rest at the small of Dean's back.

"You having a hard time getting to sleep?" Sam asked.

Dean made a non-committal hmming noise in the back of his throat and let his eyes slip closed again.

Sam was quiet for a minute, and then Dean felt the weight of Sam's hand start to move, a slow, soothing motion up the length of his spine. Dean sighed and felt the muscles across his back relax as the warmth and contact of his brother's wide palm began to move in lazy circles over his shoulder blades.

He wasn't aware when he slipped into sleep.

* * *

Tomorrow they'd be ready to get Dean back to himself. Sam had checked and double-checked all the preparations. He'd cleared everything with Luke. Filled Jo and Bobby in.

It was time.

"Hey, Dean."

"Yeah?" Dean was lying on the floor on his side, head propped in his hand, engrossed in a cutthroat game of Risk with Jake and Tommy. He didn't look up at his brother.

"We need to talk about what's going to happen in the morning."

That got the attention of all three boys, and they sat up in synch, eagerly turning toward Sam.

"OK." The expectant look on Dean's face was worn by the other two boys as well.

"Let's go to our room," Sam said.

There was a flicker of apprehension on Dean's face as his eyes caught Jake's then Sam's.

"Oh. OK," he said, climbing to his feet.

"It's not that big a deal," Sam tried to reassure him. "It's just... Let's you and me talk first, OK?"

"Don't worry, man," Jake said. "It's Tommy's turn. And you know it takes him forever to make his mind up."

"Shut up, Jake!" Tommy said indignantly. "It does not!"

"Right," Jake drawled. "Like I didn't have time to make myself a hamburger last time it was your turn."

"That's not _fair_! I..."

Sam put a hand on Dean's back briefly as they walked out of the den, Tommy's protests fading as the Winchesters made their way back to their room.

Sam closed the door behind them, pulling up a chair to sit across from Dean, who had dropped onto his bed.

"What?" Dean asked. "Just tell me, Sammy," he said tightly.

"OK, look. It's really not that big a deal, alright? It's just... I thought you'd probably want to hear it without the kids around."

Dean's eyebrows drew down in a confused frown. "What then?" he demanded. "You're kinda freaking me out, man."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "OK. So you know we've got the potion all set and ready to go?" Dean nodded. "So. The thing is how you have to take it. And where."

"Okaaaay," Dean said. "What?"

"You've got to drink half of it. Then... smear the rest over your, uh, naked body. And then, um, bathe in a spring."

Dean stared. There was a long moment of charged silence.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Dean said.

"Nope. Sorry, man."

Dean clenched his jaw together. "OK," he said. He squinted at his brother. "OK. Potentially humiliating, but OK." He seemed to think about it for a second. "Where's the spring?"

Sam watched his brother carefully before he said, "The public pool is spring fed."

Dean blinked at him. "Excuse me."

"The public pool."

"Sam..."

Sam rushed over Dean's sputtering. "Dean, Luke and I have worked it out. He's already ordered it closed for tomorrow. Something about microbes or something. We'll be there before dawn, get you, uh, you know smeared up. Then you gotta be in the spring as the sun rises. You'll get out, we'll dry you off, and then..."

"Then what?" Dean said angrily. "What? Do we even know when I change? What if someone sees us? I'm going to be _naked_!"

Sam couldn't help the snort. "I don't remember exhibitionism ever being an issue with you before, Dean."

The glare his brother sent him was lethal.

"What?" Sam said defensively. "You're the one who streaked across the stage at _my_ graduation, you jerk!"

Dean's outraged face shifted to a smirk. "The classics are always..." he started.

Sam rolled his eyes almost audibly, talking over his brother impatiently. "Dude, if we get caught, I'm going to be the one popped for trespassing with a naked kid in my company."

Dean couldn't seem to help the slight grin on his face. "It's a good thing we know someone, huh?"

"Whatever." Sam could only imagine trying to explain himself to some enraged local if they were interrupted in the midst of this ritual. He'd be dead before Luke even got there.

Dean didn't say anything for a minute.

"OK," he sighed.

Sam nodded. "OK."

* * *

Mercifully, Sam left the "naked" part out of the plan when he was telling the boys at supper, and then just said "no" in his best Dad-voice when the kids started clambering to come along. No boy, not even ones who'd never met him, could defy the John-Winchester-When-I-Say-No-I-Mean-No-Voice.

Except, of course, ironically, the grown boy who was currently using it to such great effect.

"We'll have to jump the fence," Sam said, cutting Dean a look. "But it won't be the first time we've had to do that."

Dean grinned around a bite of mashed potatoes

"Though it'll be the first time I've had to give _Dean_ a boost," Sam went on, unable to suppress the sudden giggle, hair falling over his eyes.

The smile fell off Dean's face, and he scowled. "Laugh it up, fuzzball," he growled.

"You don't have to climb the fence," Jake said. "There's a gap in the chain link down by the..." He trailed off at the interested stares from his aunt and uncle. "I mean..." He cleared his throat. Luke raised an eyebrow at him. Jake dropped his eyes, focusing on his plate. "You know, that's what _other_ kids say."

"Oh, really." Luke's voice was heavily disapproving, but if Jake had looked up he'd have seen the quick grin and wink his parents exchanged. That gap had been there a long time.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek. "Where do the kids say it is?" he asked carefully. Dean had healed up pretty well over the last week, but it would be easier on him not to have to go over the fence.

With a sideways glance at the law man to his right, Jake filled Sam in.

That night as he lay in bed, Dean thought about what it would mean to be grown again, to leave behind this second look at childhood, to be responsible for himself – for Sam – again. And he felt a pang of regret and loss that he hadn't expected. Realizing he'd miss the security that came from being protected, from being cared for, from giving over the weight of all that responsibility to someone else.

Dean sighed and flipped over onto his back. That was ridiculous. He hated being a kid, hated being vulnerable, dependent.

But with one huge exception Dean hadn't felt either of those things. He'd been disgruntled and frustrated, especially initially, but he'd never felt unsafe. And though he recognized he'd been dependent on Sam, it hadn't been as humiliating as he would have thought. In fact, it had been pretty easy.

Dean huffed out another breath, annoyed at that self-admission.

"Dean." Sam mumbled it from his bed, disgruntled and sleepily bossy. "Go to sleep." There was the sound of Sam shuffling under the covers, jerking sheets around pissily. "If I have to drag your ass out of bed in the morning..." He trailed off, trying and failing to sound ominous.

With a grin, Dean rolled over and obeyed.

* * *

Sam woke Dean at 5am, and if there was some dragging involved it wasn't so bad that blows were exchanged. They had a quick cup of coffee with Luke and Jo before heading out.

As they were leaving, Jo pulled Dean to her, hugging him tightly and kissing him. "You'll be too big to cuddle when you get back," she whispered, tears and laughter in her voice. Dean groaned in token rejection, but pressed into her at the same time, breathing her in, absorbing.

Luke took advantage as well, giving him a quick hug, and sneaking in a loud kiss. He snorted and grinned at the indignant swat Dean aimed at him. "Don't come back 'til you're grow'd," he said severely.

"See you in a little while," Sam said, large hand on Dean's shoulder, guiding him resolutely out the door.

They used Jake's gap in the fence, Dean slipping easily through, Sam more problematic, his size making negotiating the hole harder to manage. The third time he snagged his t-shirt was when Sam had been willing to retreat and climb over, but Dean's quick fingers had found the sticking point and he'd finally gotten through.

They walked down the sidewalk along the length of the pool. The springs were directly under the diving board, and Sam figured they could get close to ready and then wait out the remaining time 'til dawn.

Sam dropped the majority of their stuff next to the stairs leading up to the lower diving board while Dean stripped down to his boxers. With a quick grin at Sam, Dean skipped up the ladder and ventured out onto the diving board, bouncing lightly as he went, arms held out for balance.

After a brief hesitation Sam followed, his extra weight making the board dip abruptly.

"Dude!" Dean exclaimed, looking back over his shoulder at Sam chidingly after he'd regained his equilibrium.

"Sorry," Sam said, taking a couple more careful steps after Dean before he sat down, feet dangling off the edge. He put the bottle of potion on the board next to him, then bent forward, gripping the side of the board with his hands, swinging his legs slightly as he watched the smooth surface of the pool beneath him in the pre-dawn light. The board jiggled slightly as Dean eased down next to him.

Dean's shoulder pressed into Sam's bicep, and Sam turned his head to look at his brother. Dean was staring into the pool, but he tilted his face up to Sam when he felt his brother's eyes on him.

"What next?" Dean's legs swung next to Sam's, skinny thighs and knobby knees.

Sam checked his watch. "I figure we wait about 10 more minutes, then... drink, smear, and in you get."

"We're early," Dean observed.

Sam shrugged. "I wanted to be sure."

"'K," Dean agreed easily.

Sam leaned back, putting his hands on the board behind him and to either side, tipping his head up to look at the stars. Beside him, Dean did the same thing, and their forearms crossed behind them, Sam's hand slightly behind Dean, Dean's slightly behind Sam. Dean was close enough that Sam could feel the warmth of his brother along his side.

"'s pretty," Dean whispered, face on the sky.

Sam glanced over. Peaceful little-boy face upturned, rosebud mouth and too long lashes. So Dean and so not. Sam smiled. "Yeah," he said. Unable to stop himself from lifting a hand to skim over the back of Dean's head.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean's quiet voice broke the stillness that had descended.

"Yeah?" Sam rested his palm again on the rough surface of the diving board.

"Thanks for taking care of me."

Sam turned to look at his brother and found Dean regarding him steadily. "No biggie," Sam said, lip quirking up in a small smile, leaning into his smaller brother.

Dean grinned in return, bumping his shoulder against his brother's ribs before his eyes went back to the sky. He gasped suddenly, pointing, "Sammy, look!"

Sam's head jerked in the direction and saw the tail end of a shooting star streaking across the night.

Dean's eyes didn't leave the star. "Awesome," he breathed.

"Pretty cool," Sam agreed.

Neither spoke again until Sam said it was time to get ready.

"OK, boxers," Sam said.

They stood up on the board and with a grimace, Dean divested himself of his remaining clothing, grabbing onto Sam for balance. He balled up the shorts and handed them to Sam. Without thought, Sam took them and stuffed them in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Now, drink." He handed the bottle to Dean. "Slowly. I'll tell you when."

Dean nodded, tilting the bottle back and drinking with an eye on Sam.

"That's enough." Sam gently pulled the bottle away from Dean's mouth.

"Blech," Dean spat, though he didn't spit out any of the concoction. "Why does this stuff always taste like ass?" he hacked, face almost purple with distaste.

Sam bit back on a smile. "You weren't on the trip when I got that piece of ass, were you?" he asked.

The double meaning of his words didn't hit Sam until Dean's eyebrows shot up and Dean choked, "Oh, dude, you..."

Sam felt his face heat up. Even at 14 Dean still... "Shut up," Sam snapped.

"Me?" Dean started indignantly. "You..."

"Dean!" They really didn't have time for this.

"Fine," Dean clipped, scowl set. "What next?"

"You gotta, you know..." Sam made rubbing motions, and Dean's jaw clenched testily.

"Right." He held out his hands.

Sam poured some of the mixture into the boy's cupped palms.

Nose wrinkling, Dean started the process of smearing the potion on his arms.

"Here," Sam said, tipping the bottle into one of his own hands. "Turn around," he instructed.

Dean gave Sam a quick glance through his lashes and pivoted carefully. Sam ran his hand with the thick mixture through Dean's hair and down the back of the boy's neck, moving with him when Dean hunched away slightly at the contact.

"It's got to be everywhere, Dean, OK?" Sam said quietly, and Dean nodded, hands moving quickly and surely over his stomach, starting to run down his legs.

It took them awhile to get Dean coated, but they finally decided they'd gotten him completely covered.

"How much time?" Dean asked.

"'Bout a minute," Sam said, checking his watch and the sky nervously.

"Cool," Dean said. "Move back."

"What?"

"Move back," Dean insisted, pushing at his brother. Sam took a hesitant step away. "Move," Dean ordered again.

Sam did, backing toward the ladder of the board. "Dean?"

"Move," Dean followed after him, shoving.

When Sam got to the ladder he took a step down, watching as Dean turned to face the front of the board, hands resting lightly on the railings, feet poised for running. He looked over his shoulder at Sam.

"Time?"

Sam glanced at his watch again. "Twenty-five seconds."

Dean nodded. Grinned. "Count it down." He was shifting his weight from the foot in front to the one in back, hands sliding up and down the rails. He waggled his eyebrows at brother. "Come on, Sammy. Countdown."

Sam just stared.

"Sammy," Dean wheedled.

Sam shook his head, looked at the time, started the countdown. "Ten."

Quicksilver flash of a smile before Dean turned his head back toward the front.

"Nine..." Dean rocked in time with Sam's cadence, "eight..." Getting ready, "seven... six... five..."

Dean started to run down the board.

"Four..."

Gathering speed.

"Three..." A hop and slap as bare feet hit the end of the board.

"Two..." Up in the air, tucking into a ball.

"One..." Downward fall to the surface.

"Sunrise."

Sam's whisper timed perfectly with the ker-floosh of Dean hitting the water, the arc of the splash scattering liquid drops, flashing starry gold and red and orange as the first light of the morning hit them, sun cresting the horizon at exactly the same moment.

Sam jumped off the board, scrambling to the edge of the pool and peering in. He saw a shimmer across the surface of the water, the flash of a shape in the murky green below.

"Dean!" He shouted. The form under the water was rising quickly, getting larger as it got closer...

Dean's head broke the surface, short-cropped hair attached to an adult head, clear green eyes, lashes spiked with moisture, freckles faded into the background of pale skin, mouth opening even as his hand came up in front of his face.

"Sammy?" Eyes going from his hand – long fingers, calloused and strong – to his brother on the edge of the pool.

"Yes!" Sam shouted and Dean echoed it, fists pumping in the air.

Sam had tipped back from his knees to his butt and was pulling at his shoes, fumbling with the laces while Dean treaded water, blinking the pool out of his eyes.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

Sam stood and was stripping off his jeans, tugging his t-shirts over his head.

Dean tipped his head back, barking out a laugh at Sam's grinning response.

Sam kicked his clothes at the pile that held Dean's and in two steps reached the diving board, swinging himself up the ladder. Long legs took the length of the board in three enormous strides; two bare feet and 200-plus pounds hit the end of the board, bending it almost to the water and rocketing Sam's 6' 4" body into the morning air. He twisted as he rose, eyes on his brother as he drew into the tightest ball he could manage, and Dean realized exactly where his cannonball of a brother was going to land.

"Holy crap!" he shouted, striking out for the side of the pool trying to get out from under... Too late.

Sam landed a couple of feet away, the wave from the impact swamping Dean, pushing water into his face and eyes, leaving him sputtering and choking in its wake.

"You are so _dead_!" he shouted when he could speak again, flailing out blindly for his brother, touching slick skin and hearing Sam's laughing gasp when Dean made contact. Sam had only just started to kick out of the way – feet coming up belatedly to propel and protect – and Dean grinned as his hand fisted around Sam's ankle. He jerked his brother down and making the most of the leverage, threw himself on top of Sam, pushing the shaggy, dark head under water.

They fought for almost 15 minutes, dunking each other and splashing until the light got bright enough to remind them that they weren't supposed to be there. And that neither one of them was wearing enough clothes to meet unexpected guests.

They heaved themselves out of the pool, Dean grabbing the one towel they'd brought, hogging it while Sam shivered impatiently in his wet underwear next to him. Until the brat dangled Dean's jeans and shirts over the edge of the pool.

Once they were dressed, they started back for the car. Sam hadn't planned on the swim and so had been forced to pull his jeans over soaked boxers. He squirmed in the passenger seat of the Impala all the way back to the Sweeds'.

* * *

After breakfast with the entire family, Dean and Sam headed back to their room, Dean gathering up what he'd need for a shower and a shave. He ran his hand over his face, unable to stop the grin at the rough feel of stubble along his jaw.

"It's good that you're you again, man," Sam said, throwing himself down on his bed.

"Damn straight," Dean agreed, taking a moment to stretch up and out, enjoying the feel of adult muscles and sinew pulling along his back and arms.

"Cuz I'm no good the big brother stuff," Sam went on wryly.

That brought Dean up short, and he lowered his arms. "What?"

"Nothin'," Sam said looking away.

"Sam."

"It's just... I'm in charge for, like, three weeks, Dean, and you get snatched by a child molester. If he'd..." Sam's voice wavered in a way that made both of them uncomfortable and he cleared his throat, unable to go on. He sat up on the bed, avoiding Dean's incredulous attention.

"OK, first of all. Dude. You were never 'in charge.'" Dean gave Sam a stern look when Sam's head came up and his younger brother snorted. "I may have been a mini-version of me, but I was always in charge. And I was always the big brother."

Dean paused for emphasis. "And second." He took a couple of steps closer to his brother. "Sammy, it wasn't your fault. There was nothing that you could have done. And nothing happened." He sat down next to Sam, pressing his shoulder into his brother's. "Nothing happened," he said again. "You got there in time."

Dean hesitated. "You saved me, OK?" he said softly. "And I knew you'd come, Sam. You're my brother. It has nothing to do with being big or little. I know you'll always come for me. Like I'll always come for you."

Sam had turned to look at him, and Dean nudged him with his shoulder. "Right?"

Sam's face was serious as he looked at his brother. "Right."

Dean smiled briefly. "And." He cleared his throat softly. Looked away. "You didn't do too bad at the other stuff."

Sam was quiet for a minute. "I had a pretty good role model, I guess," he said.

The look Dean shot Sam was quick—pleased and embarrassed.

"OK," Dean said abruptly, slapping his brother on the knee as he rose. He looked down at Sam. "We all done with this?" he asked.

Sam grinned. "Yeah."

"Good." Dean grabbed his stuff, starting for the door and a shower. "I think I've still got some of that freaking potion in my ears."

* * *

_The End._


End file.
